


off the grid

by zukofenty



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: CEO!Katara, Crash Landing on You!AU, F/M, May 13: Hidden, Soldier!Zuko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24174133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukofenty/pseuds/zukofenty
Summary: The one where Katara is a spoiled heiress who manages to crash land on a (cute) soldier of one of the most dangerous nations in the world.“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.“Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!”
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 63





	1. crotch crusher

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the Kdrama Crash Landing on You! I finished that shit in like 1.5 days because mental illness

“Get your face out of my vagina!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Here’s a thought, get your vagina out of my face first!” Zuko yelps, words gargling. He currently was being suffocated by the crotch at his neck. After Katara’s many screams, and a swift kick to his face, they both scrambled off each other, laying on the ground for a quick moment of relief. Her body is aching after throwing herself from the tree she was stuck in. 

After realization set in that he was a soldier who was just nearly crushed to death by a cooch, and she was a woman who somehow crossed impenetrable borders, they swiftly were both upright. Katara in a fighting stance, and Zuko’s gun automatically pointed at the girl’s face. Her eyes nervously darted around, looking for any escape route in the expanse of wilderness and trees and furry animals she sure were foaming at the mouth, looking for a bite of gorgeous heiress who smelled of Chanel No. 5. 

“I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me!” Katara screeches, taking off as fast as her Yeezys could take her. 

“Um, _yeah I can_ !” He insists, shooting into her general direction. He wasn’t trying to _kill_ her persay. Maybe maim. (It just would’ve been a lot easier if she died). 

“Fuck!” he screams, once the girl was out of sight. 

Last week, Katara was cyberbullying Debby Ryan from the comfort of her penthouse. One of her larger concerns of the week was debating buying the rights to all of her Disney Channel movies, just _because she felt like it._ Then, she could post clips of her disturbing, _Radio Rebel_ smile every day on Instagram without copyright claims and she could blissfully ignore Debby Ryan DMing her a defamation lawsuit. 

She had _money money_ . Like being able to turn on the AC during the summer type of wealthy. The type of rich that could sing John Lennon’s _Imagine_ during any crisis and say _that’s enough activism for today_. After all, she was an heiress of one of the richest families in the Water Tribes—a nation at the forefront of nearly every cultural conversation. In the past, every other nation out there doubted their abilities based on size alone, underestimating the tribes’ growing force. Once a nation surviving on simply hope to prosper post 100 Years War, they were now a cultural powerhouse you couldn’t ignore if you tried. From their dramas, skincare routines, and exquisite cuisine (two-headed fish soup and all), the nation was suddenly the talk of the entire world. They thrived under people’s ignorant assumptions. Blossomed despite people’s mistreatment of them in the media. Soon enough, those who questioned their authority were begging for alliances. 

_Except_ for the Fire Nation. A nation stuck so determinedly in the past. Notorious for their inability to move on from the world of centuries ago. The world where the Fire Nation was a dominating force. While every nation competed to innovate, the Fire Nation seemingly refused to accept reality. Their borders were violently closed off. Their trade was limited to working with the Earth Nation every once in a blue moon. Refugees who manage to escape tell stories of a cruel life seemingly stuck in the stone ages. Their leader, Azulon, threatens to bomb somewhere, something, someone every other week, and every nation’s relationship with them has remained precariously in the air since then. 

“What the actual _fuck_ !” She screeches. “I thought this was one of those national parks joggers find bodies in, not the fucking _Fire Nation_!” 

Dead or alive, people weren’t allowed to make it out of the Fire Nation. 

Katara was a stubborn CEO. The kind to only accept things by her way, by her standards. Coming from money didn’t mean shit when you didn’t have the raw _hunger_ she had. She wasn’t like many of her peers. She wasn’t content with just sitting back and signing a few papers once in a while so she could make it to her SoulCycle class. But, she’d like to think that’s what made her so successful for the last decade. Katara was insistent on testing her clothing company’s new batch of athletic clothing. She scaled a mountain range in the sweat resistant hoodie. She swam in Olympic sized pools in their innovative, competition ready swimsuit and swim cap matching set. Of course, it made sense to test their new paragliding uniform. At the time. 

“ _Don’t move._ This field is full of landmines,” Zuko warns, putting out his hand to stop the shaking girl. He sees it in her eyes, the way she’s about to run after he’s managed to catch up to her, and unknowingly blow this entire shit up. “They’re grey and round, or shaped like a box that—” 

“Like the one you’re stepping on, right now?” Katara smirks, hands coming to her hips to taunt him.

He freezes, hands coming out to balance himself at the edge of the stream she’s managed to leap across. 

“Again, I am a bad bitch. These won’t kill me. _You_ won’t kill me.” She snatches his walkie talkie from his jacket’s pocket, and thinks about just taking it and letting the guy who almost fucking _shot her_ suffer. She decides against it (she didn’t want to get on God’s, or Rihanna’s, bad side today) and sets it down on the ground in front of him. He’s left to watch her expertly leap around a few stray explosives. 

“If ‘bad bitch’ means missing a few limbs, sure. Go _ahead_ ,” Zuko baits. She happily gives him the bird, before running as fast as she could in her Yeezy Boost 350s. Running even when she hears gunshots whizzing past her. Running even when she sees a sign, warning about a field of landmines. 

She runs until her vision becomes blurry, and all she can hear are little children chanting a song about the Fire Nation’s greatness. She runs, even when her body feels like lead, and her eyes are a hair’s breadth away from shutting. 

//

He doesn’t know why he helps her. Why he wants her to get out of here alive. Why he scoops her up once soldiers began flooding the village she stumbled upon. They were making sure everyone was doing their part in singing the national anthem before the enforced curfew. She _should’ve_ been shot to death by now by his men, or at least mauled by a wild lion vulture. 

He just doesn’t understand it. Their forces were meant to _kill_ , trained to shoot anything at the border on sight. He doesn’t understand how this five foot nothing girl had outrun men who have trained in the military for nearly their whole lives. His army was sloppy that day. Most of them were still drunk off of whatever cactus juice and homemade wine combination the ladies at the local village had offered to them. Then again, it wasn’t every day someone decided to paraglide during the biggest storm of the decade. It wasn’t every day someone managed to cross into the Fire Nation, when no one wanted to be there for _decades_. 

He doesn’t understand why he pulled her close to his body at the sight of the military’s trucks, and runs them into his house at the edge of the hill. He doesn’t understand why he spent the last three hours painstakingly cooking up noodles from scratch for her. She takes a quick nap on an old sleeping mat he found while he works diligently. His stomach protests the fragrant aroma. He hasn’t eaten a homemade meal in months. 

“People literally steal and sell my pubic hairs on eBay. The average price is one grand for a single strand. I deserve better,” Katara says. He thinks it’s completely in jest. She cackles when he glares at her. The smile she sends him tries to relay that she's grateful, but he’s hardly swayed by her charms. Instead, he’s scoffing at the efforts.

A first for her. 

She’s used to getting her way, as an expert at manipulation. When you’ve spent your whole life ruthlessly competing to run one of the largest corporations in the world, you couldn’t afford to be sweet or gentle or genuine. You learned to work people, bend them to your will until they snap. Then, you move on. Find someone else, do the old song and dance again. 

Before she could even lift a chopstick, Zuko quickly grabs the bowl from her grasp, a pout forming on his lips. While he was always taught to school his features, he always knew he was no good at it. 

“I will continue to do what I’ve been doing for the last two hours, and just ignore everything you’ve been saying,” he mutters, sipping at the broth to her dismay. The second she walked in, she called his house “a hut with a dick in it.” When he instructed her to take a shit in the outhouse, she didn't speak to him for the next hour. He thinks he saw her tear up when he mentioned there was no Internet. He swears he was ten seconds away from busting a vein. 

“ _Ugh_. Room temperature water?” Zuko guffaws once her nose crinkles up in disgust.

He blows a stray strand of his hair away from his face. “There are no ice cubes.” She hates how everything he says is so matter of fact. 

“Get some, then.” she says, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I don’t drink ice cube-less water.”

He just laughs. “Right, when we get any sort of electricity first, I’ll make it my number one priority to get a fridge that dispenses ice cubes engraved with your perfectly detailed portrait on them, too.” 

Katara shoves at him, and he just stares at the spot on his chest she touched. “For future reference, I am vegan. Well, vegan adjacent. But still. The point is I am a delicate flower with an even more delicate diet. A delicate flower that’s used to caviar and organic shit and the rich people gluten-free bread you get from Trader Joe’s. So I’ll excuse it this time, but the next time you make something please remember.” She follows up the command with a sweet smile, as though it made up for her demands. 

The memory of her dodging bullets with a branch in her hair easily comes up in his mind. “Nothing about you is delicate.” Zuko barely budges when she tries reaching for the bowl again. 

Katara gasps. “Even my bowel movements are delicate!” 

He just snorts. 

She’s annoying, he decides. All brattiness considered. Even with her tiny frame drowning in her dirty paragliding uniform, and a pout that has him wanting to laugh. The way she moves is dainty, with the self-assurance only those who grew up in comfort have. But, something about her eyes reveal something crueler, something so much more vicious underneath the soft exterior. 

He was thoroughly out of options. While he has her holed up in his house until they decide an escape route, he feels his stomach churning at the thought of the Fire Nation’s regular surprise house inspections. Turning her over to the government meant a quick and easy execution for him and his men without question, and the potential to cause _even_ more political strain with the rest of the world. Even if they do hand her to the government, there’s no telling what they would do to her. 

He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing at them as thought it could end the nightmare he found himself trapped in. 

For the last few years, Zuko’s life was a monotonous routine. 

“Type 63 Rifle, Soviet SKS carbine,” Zuko breathes, ears perking up at the sound of the weapon. His hand comes out to halt the hordes of men. “One of us. Retreat,” he barked, arms motioning for his battalion to return to their hidden positions among the dwindling flora and fauna. Months in his uniform without rest, months spent guarding the border to ensure no one left. 

He doesn’t remember much about his life before this. He tries to forget, because it made him too sad. It made him want to do something reckless, to break something, to even _cry_ , because he’s long forgotten anything but getting up, getting into uniform, getting into routine. 

It was his duty, as the only son of the Fire Nation’s notorious military director. 

He was trained to be a war wielding machine. To show no mercy. Men in the Fire Nation weren’t meant to be _weak_. They weren’t allowed to be soft. 

His mother tried to get away from all of it. She tried as hard as she could to tell her children there was a life you could feel beat with all of your heart, as long as cruelty didn’t find it first. She knew Zuko wasn’t meant for this life. 

Zuko knew, too. 

He was never good at anything, never the best one growing up. While he excelled at delivering blows, or wielding his swords, he was always told his mind was a pathetic thing. Too brash, too naive. Azula was always the better one at that. At violence. She was their father’s right hand, her thoughts filled to the brim with genius strategy. Always one step ahead of everyone else, even as a toddler. 

Zuko was content to be in the background, to be nothing more than a decoration when the family portrait needed to be taken. He wants to be selfish, to blame Azula for pressing pause on his life. The day she was assassinated was the day his dreams of forgetting the Fire Nation all but shriveled up. After all, tradition mandated the military director had a blood successor. 

//

“I am not going to put back on my dirty underwear after I shower! I am not a Bhad Bhabie type of bitch,” Katara indignantly spits out, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Zuko rolls his eyes. Everything she says is _confusing_. 

_“Don’t act up while I’m gone,” Zuko begs._

_“Like the City Girls?”_

_She feels her blood boil at his silence._

_“Please tell me you’re lying. Please tell me you’ve heard of ‘Act Up.’ Please. Don’t let me down now.”_

_“I have no—”_

_“Seriously, where were you all summer? ‘Act up, you can get snatched up?’ Nothing? Nothing rings a fucking bell?” He can’t help but sweat._

Even when he looked up whatever she says on his work computer (the only time people in the Fire Nation were allowed to use the Internet) he still can’t wrap his head around what exactly a Bhad Bhabie was. 

“Then don’t wear underwear. I don’t know what else to tell you.” 

She holds the landline phone close to her mouth, as if to make the message clearer. “Where will the pussy juices go then!” 

Zuko hangs up on her, only to have her call him precisely 12 minutes later. 

“My right nipple is chafing. What about my nipple eczema!” She protests. She feels her face shriveling up. Without her Yves Saint Laurent Firming Serum, she feels like a piece of her identity was missing. He had diligently informed her to use his sole bar of soap for all purposes before he left for work, and she nearly fainted on the spot. 

“Tell it to go away, I guess?” Zuko suggests, trying his hardest to sound helpful. He tried leaving detailed notes on how to take a hot bath by pouring boiling water in his basin, and clipping the plastic shower curtain to the ceiling, trapping the heat in. He prays she hasn’t burned down his house, or someone hasn’t seen her through the gate.

“I can’t!” Katara seethes. 

Zuko rubs at his temples. “This was meant for _only_ emergencies. _Goodbye_!” Zuko slams the phone, returning to his paperwork. He feels a hot blush spreading across his cheeks, and tries to bring his hand up to his face to alleviate the warm feeling.

//

She doesn’t know why he’s so nice to her. 

When she’s all but threatened him and blackmailed his entire crew to keep their silence and help her escape.

She simply laughs, the sound foreign to even her own ears. Her empty stomach painfully clenched in protest at the sudden sensation. It had to be some sort of _sick_ joke. A sick fucking joke probably crafted up by Pakku! Or some of those man-children from the Northern Tribes who think they know a thing or two because they took a Marketing 101 crash course on Khan Academy! 

She needed to get back for the big shareholders meeting. They were going to announce the new CEO of Moon Tech, the largest corporation in the Water Tribes. It was everything she had been working for her entire life. She couldn’t afford to miss it, lest it show any weakness whatsoever. As the most viable successor, she was sure all eyes were watching her every move. Yet, somehow, she managed to end up on the set of a period piece gone wrong. A miserable, yet probably Academy Award winning, period piece that smelled like moose knuckle pussy pickle. 

She looked to the closed door, the flimsy thing separating the minute living room from his even smaller bedroom. She felt guilty for misjudging him upon their first meeting. 

She thinks she feels more guilty for breaking his favorite vase. 

“C’mon! That was my favorite ficus,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head she broke the vase on. He avoids her gaze because she’s clad in one of his old dress shirts and nothing else, the thing coming to fall at her knees. If he blushes any harder, he thinks she might notice. Her hair is wrapped up in a messy updo and her face is scrubbed clean. The faintest tint of pink dusts across her cheeks. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, hand coming to rub at the spot. She was nervous hearing someone wiggle the doorknob when he hadn’t come back well into the night. Why he had three locks on his door and used exactly _none_ of them, she wasn’t quite sure. She thought she was being helpful by locking his doors. Until it was becoming apparent he didn’t care enough to carry his keys with him, and had an additional unlocked back door he was just attacked at. 

He swats her away swiftly, body mechanically programmed to _attack_ for coming so close to him. He’s body slammed bigger men for breathing through their mouths. But something stops him abruptly, and he stills when she comes closer, roughly grabbing at his head between her two hands, and bringing it to her eye level. “A slight bump will form, but it’ll go away faster if you soak some rice and press here,” she precisely finds the swelling area. He winces when he feels the pressure. 

Her eyes are impossibly wide while she watches him, and he can’t help but shrink at her careful stare. This was the quietest she’s been since she crash landed. He feels unsettled. “I—I got you some stuff.” He places the bag gently in front of her, a now familiar flush coming to pepper his cheeks. “I’m going to go to bed now,” he lies, retreating to his room while still rubbing at his head.

“Thanks,” her voice is barely a whisper, and stops him in his tracks. He turns to her, and her smile is so genuine. Her eyes are swelling with joy and it makes his heart ache. It seemed easier to talk to her that night than in the day. There wasn’t an impossible front to break open to see how she was feeling, the moonlight peeking through the cracks in the wall seemed to make her eyes wider, smile brighter even. Her guard is down and it makes emotions easier to decipher. 

She thinks she can’t feel her face when she opens the bag. “I’m such a bitch,” she babbles to herself as she opens the boxes of shampoo, conditioner, and even signature Water Tribe moisturizers. Everything she complained about he managed to remember to a T. He even got her some traditional Fire Nation women’s outfits, even when she was only staying for the next couple of days. The tears pricking at her eyes feel foreign. She could afford private jets to fly to Beverly Hills and start a fist fight with Kim Kardashian just because she hit Kourtney in season 18. A couple dollars worth of smuggled products shouldn’t make her a weepy mess. Somehow though, she feels herself unable to dim the smile plastered across her face. 

Zuko wants to jump for joy. Though, he resists the urge when getting up too fast makes his head bump feel like it has a second heartbeat. He spent the better part of his evening at the open air marketplace a few blocks from the village. It was worth enduring the questioning glances from the shop vendors. Even when he felt like crawling in a hole and dying as he hastily gestured he wanted to purchase women’s underwear, it was all worth it when he’s lulled to sleep to the sound of Katara’s giggles. 

//

“I think he just smiled.” Mako whisper-screams. Nearly all the jaws in the mess hall drop open. 

“You’re _lying_ ,” a voice squeaks out. The dozens of heads seem to collectively turn towards their captain. Their stomachs churned at seeing living proof of the small smirk on his face. He’s distracted. Staring off into the distance, he’s just picking at the meager helpings of his lunch on his plate. 

For all intents and purposes, Zuko was _boring_. He was a stick in the mud, the kind of guy you saw laugh once or twice a year for obligatory purposes, just to make sure everyone knew he wasn’t a robot assigned by the government to spy on soldiers. 

He was a captain who delivered orders, and nothing more. A strict, by the book kind of guy. The team knew little to nothing about him. They weren’t even sure he used the bathroom like a normal human being (half of them were betting money on the robot theory). They just weren’t close like that. They weren’t the type of team to be able to joke around with their captain, share their stories, bleed their heart out on the military field. They knew the scar on his face meant he had pissed off some higher ranking officials who still possessed the power to firebend, a sacred art limited to the few. It meant there was more to the story than just a bumbling captain of a lower ranked crew. The most they got out of him was once in a while he would startle a young kid, who was just trying to get his mandated service over with. He’d clap them on the shoulder and would murmur a low “Good job.” (His definition of keeping up team morale). 

He was efficient at his job, and good at keeping his men safe, rarely raising his voice to anyone except maybe himself. More than what they could say for other captains. He was hard on his men, but harder on himself. It was rare to see him doing anything but _stress_. 

_Smiling_? Simply out of the question. 

He couldn’t help it! It was an automatic reaction to the morning he had. 

“Thank you, for everything,” Katara says quietly, placing the tray of food on his night stand. She knew he had to get to the military base in the wee hours of the morning, and also knew she wasn’t going to wake up in time without her vibrating mattress alarm clock. So she pulls an all nighter, and tries to figure out how to use the tools and contraptions at her disposal. She didn’t mean to startle him, she swears. She has to stifle a laugh when he wakes up with a start. Eyes slowly peeling open, the eye crust obstructing his view. His hair is facing every which way. He looks younger, somehow. The messy hair, the wrinkled shirt, and drool he makes a quick job of wiping away. 

“What’s this?” He peers up at her curiously, placing the tray in his lap. 

“My labor of love.” She insists, sitting even closer to him on his bed. She thinks she likes it when he squirms under her gaze. For all the military get up with metallic shoulders, and the endless medals pinned to his uniforms, he was just a boy under it all. “I know, I haven’t been the most...easy guest to have.” She ignores his snort. “After all of this over, after the Fire Nation opens up its borders again, I promise you. I will pay you ten times what this _hut with a dick_ is worth. Because…” she breathes in, looking unsure of herself. “I’ll never forget your kindness.” 

“T—Thank you,” he stutters. He thinks they’re empty promises, but doesn’t try to question them too hard. It shouldn’t be possible for his heart to pulse as fast as it does, but it seems to be mesmerized by how much wider her smile was able to get. The noodles are misshapen, probably because of her inexperience with the old-fashioned machine. The broth is salty and makes Zuko’s throat beg for a glass of water. And yet, he slurps up the entire dish without complaint. 

Anything to see her eyes light up. 

//

“The first boob I ever saw was in _Titanic_ . Haven’t seen one since. Waiting for _Titanic 2_ to come out.” Mako says proudly, puffing out his chest. He hoped his extensive knowledge of non-Fire Nation films would entertain Katara. Zuko’s few trusted men (mainly the ones who were responsible for letting her escape in the first place) were instructed to keep her safe while he sorted out the plans for her escape. Iroh was able to set up a clandestine arrangement with a ship leaving the Fire Nation docks for their semi annual pickup of Earth Nation goods. They were hoping she could sneak through to the Earth Nation, and explain her situation with customs there. 

“Buddy, I got some news for you.” Katara smirks, and the boys grow nervous. She was pretty. The type of pretty that made people stare, wondering if it was possible for someone’s eyes to twinkle in the sunlight. She looked like one of those celebrities in the movies he loved. Talked like one, too. In the Fire Nation, she was the type of pretty where guys would be bartering an entire village just to get a chance to look at her. Though, just from talking with her, she seemed like the type of girl who would hide in her house after gaining said village, just to spite them. 

Mako was curious about the Water Nation. Their schools taught them that Azulon was an elite magical creature that somehow never needed to take a shit, and people in the other nations defecated three times the amount of Fire Nation folk. He always knew something was up. Everyone was constantly smuggling goods from all the other nations, especially from the Water Nation. There were automatic rice cookers that played a song when it finished making perfect rice, and little boxes that could play music when you press it. Mako always knew there was so much more out there than people in the Fire Nation could ever know. 

She tells them stories of her life in the Water Tribes as they wait for Zuko, and she pointedly ignores the scoffs and disbelief. “There are toilets that shoot out water into your ass crack to clean it?” 

“You can adjust the settings and everything!” She proclaims, pride filling every one of her words. “Warm, cool, even inconsistent spurts if you’re into that shit.” 

They all make a noise of amazement. “That’s _incredible_.” She talks about sky rises, and business meetings with rich people, and showers that turn on with a drop of a hat. 

“What’s a Rihanna again? Is that your God?” 

“Yes.” Katara answers, with no hesitation. “See, she is the baddest in the land—” 

“Wait!” Bolin abruptly stops her. “I thought that was your God...Megan Thee Stallion?” 

“She’s the thiccest of them all.” Katara punctuated with a click of her tongue. “I thought we went over this!” 

“Sorry,” they grunt, looking especially sheepish. 

“What does she preach?” Kai inquires, eyes growing wide with delight. 

Katara taps her lip, eyes coming up to the ceiling trying to concentrate. “She’s a goddess who empowers women! She tries to get everyone to build their knee strength. I think one of her sayings is ‘I need a Mr. Clean, make that pussy beam.’” 

Zuko watches on, leaning on the door frame. He wants to hate the fact that he’ll miss her. 

//

Everything was _supposed_ to be easy at this point. 

“Don’t forget about me.” She holds onto his arm as they sit against the edge of the fishing vessel, the waves impatiently slapping against them. He was supposed to bid her farewell at the dock, but something in him wanted to guarantee she was able to get on the second boat to the Earth Nation. 

He’s still clad in one of his more formal uniforms. He still feels the chill of the night scraping through the fabric of his double breasted blazer. 

Katara openly welcomes the cold, after nearly sweltering to death every second she’s been in the Fire Nation. 

He lets his smile reach his eyes. “How could I forget a girl who nearly crushed me to death with her crotch.” 

Her guffaw has the captain, Jeong Jeong, even startled. “Right.” She looks off into the distance, and can’t remember a time when she’s ever been surrounded by this much water. “My name’s Katara, by the way.” 

Zuko feels a pang in his chest. “Zuko.” 

“Nice to meet you, Zuko,” she whispers, holding her hand out to shake his. It feels warm when he grabs at the dainty thing. 

“I hope we meet again. Maybe, in another life, Katara.” 

“Really?” For a moment, he hears a twinge of sadness in her voice. It could be his mind or his heart making it up, but he swears he hears it.

“Really.” 

Everything was going according to plan. Everything was supposed to go smoothly. 

Until they’re both panic-sweating underneath the ship in its cargo hold, trying to come up with a plan to fend off the Coast Guard officers stopping all ships sailing past curfew. 

“Do something! Doesn’t the military tell you to do something in this case? Or are you guys just trained in the art of being ugly and having anger issues?” 

Zuko wracks his brain. “Why don’t you help me?” 

“What happens if I don’t?” Katara angrily mutters. 

“You’ll deal with the consequences,” Zuko shrugs, too entirely calm. He was a natural in intense situations, but even he could feel his hands shaking. 

“That’s just diet ‘ _I hope this bitch dies_!’”

“Oops,” Zuko sneers. 

Katara huffs. “The fact that men can breathe just doesn’t sit right with my soul.” Katara wants to strangle him. 

A lightbulb seemingly goes off in his head. Something Mako said about the non-Fire Nation films and stories was always a fool proof “Get out of jail” card. 

“Kiss me,” he says without any uncertainty. 

“Are you huffing cactus juice, bitch?” 

“Just do it!” Zuko practically screams when he hears the door opening. She presses her lips to his chapped ones, and his hands naturally come to her waist. He’s lost in the feeling of her plush lips, how incredibly _soft_ her body was that he ignores the screams of Coast Guard officers. 

“What the fuck was that!” They question Jeong Jeong, who simply shrugs. The officers promptly drop the cargo door in shock. 

She slaps his face, his cheek already reddening in mere moments. 

“What was that for?” Zuko grumbles, stroking his face. 

“You’re a freak!” 

He narrows his eyes. “I prefer a ‘you’re welcome,’ but that doesn’t seem to be in your vocabulary.” He felt like his entire body was tingling, but Katara could only focus on the fact he was swiping at his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Hey! You should be thanking Rihanna you got a chance to kiss me! If you weren’t so _colonized_ you would realize I am one of the most beautiful women in the world!” Katara petulantly reminds.

“I think it’s because you got diarrhea all over my one of my favorite t-shirts that I am doubting that claim.” 

Katara sulks, confident form shrinking. “I forgot to boil the water one time, sue me.” 

He can’t stop his laugh from taking over his whole body. He’s about to help her up when he hears, “Open it up again!” 

This time, Katara fully pushes him down among the boxes of cargo, straddling his lap, and violently mashes her lips to his. 

“Get the fuck up here!” Someone screams. Katara lets up on the kiss so Zuko could peer up at the officers. He feels his ears overheating.

“She’s my fiancé.” He hastily explains, once they were on deck. In between their masks, they stare down at Katara, who bites on her tongue, and puts up an act of a bashful bride-to-be. She holds onto his arm with a vice grip, ducking her head behind his broad shoulders. 

“They were going on a romantic sight seeing trip,” Jeong Jeong provides, sweat beating down his back. 

Katara nods enthusiastically. “We just couldn’t wait for the wedding to have a little _fun_.” She grins intenerally at their coughs of discomfort and Zuko’s bewildered gaze. 

They check Zuko’s identification card, before nodding in understanding. 

“Fine,” one officer bites out. He stares at Katara for a beat too long as though he’s reading her thoughts. It makes her uneasy. “Turn it back, and don’t come out past curfew anymore. They’ve implemented new standards for ships.” Jeong Jeong nods in understanding, and jumps to the helm in no time. But, Zuko could sense the panic vibrating off of Katara. 

She turns to see the second ship waiting in the distance, her ticket to freedom a few feet away. 

“We’re not done with date night!” She insists, coming out to try to stop the officer. Zuko holds her back, eyes pleading with her. “But—I—there _has_ to be some other way.” She’s shaking like a leaf, even when Zuko throws his blazer over her bare shoulders. 

//

“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck feeding him heartburn medication like they are tic tacs,” Katara says to no one. She’s pacing nervously around the living room, and Zuko’s trying his best to come up with _something_ to comfort her. His head is in his hands, and he’s since loosened his top knot to let his hair fall. 

“Katara, I am only two years older than you,” he gently reminds. 

“...And then I heard dentures always smell no matter how hard you clean them.” 

“Katara I swear—,” 

She gasps. “Oh my god, we have to start thinking of retirement homes.” 

Things were _supposed_ to be easy. 

A spontaneous house check was something the village’s residents were accustomed to. They gathered outside their homes as soldiers began rifling through their things. Parents simply stood about, discussing the new books they had to buy for their kids for the upcoming semester. 

Nothing was entirely out of the blue. Yet, the elusive military captain just _had_ to show up to the front of his house, hand in hand with a blue-eyed girl. 

A gun was promptly pointed in her face. “Oh shit. Bitch, not this again.” 

“This house was registered for _one_ resident.” General Zhao’s lip curls. “State your name and occupation.” 

General Zhao had overheard a certain military director’s son was busted trying to get some punani on the seven seas. 

It’s not that he hated Zuko, per say. Their relationship was more of a “ _regularly abusing Zuko’s privacy to fulfill a personal agenda because of the bloodthirsty desire for power_ ” type of thing. Normal things. _Maybe_ , it was influenced by the fact he got wind of Zuko pressuring his higher ups to further investigate his sister’s assasination. He wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Look here, I have information that could lead to the arrest of Nicki Minaj. So why don’t you, I don’t know. _Let me go_! I promise I’ll tell you everything I know about Ms. Nincki,” she lowly breathes, a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows only making the soldiers around her even more heated. 

“Shut the fuck up!” A soldier screams behind her, poking her head with the gun. Katara couldn’t help the whimper that passed her lips. For the first time in her life, she thinks she feels genuine fear. 

Zuko pushes past the guards holding him back, throwing them to the ground. Without missing a beat, he takes her hand in his. “Get your fucking gun out of my fiancé’s face!” He roars. Gasps reverberate around the villagers. This was the loudest and longest they’ve ever heard Zuko speak. “She works for the government as part of Division 11,” he explains, letting his voice settle into its usual rasp. Everybody visibly recoils. 

A highly secretive sector of the government virtually _no one_ , not even General Zhao had access to. They were agents deployed in different nations, with the goal of collecting information about the culture. It would’ve explained Katara’s Water Tribe accent, and the lack of her identification papers. 

General Zhao pushes past Zuko, staring him down and grumbling with his men following behind. 

The women of the village instantly make way to collect around Katara. Noses turned up at her like she was shit on a brick. No, they couldn’t give a shit about her. They had rushed into their houses after the announcement, and came back to ply Zuko with trays of food. 

“For our handsome Zuko finally getting hitched!” The fake smiles make Katara want to stab herself. She swiftly reaches for Zuko’s hand, much to his confusion, and lays her head on his shoulder. 

“Baby, let’s go inside. I’m cold,” she feigns through her teeth. Her puppy dog eyes make him feel like he’s in high school. He numbly nods. 

She thinks she hears someone’s grandma calling her a slut. 

//

“Pick your head up king, your hairline is receding,” Katara worries her lip at seeing his current state. She doesn’t think he’s slept all night, and he has papers and maps with highlighter marks and red circles all around him on his bed. 

It’s been a few days since his big announcement to the village, and it feels better to be able to get outside. Breathe from the confines from Zuko’s dingy house. Even among the whispers and stares from people, the villagers weren’t all bad. The women sometimes drop by to invite her over to cook with them, and the kids bring her _only_ the nicer rocks they’ve managed to dig through the dirt for. 

“I just want to get you home.” He practically grunts. She’s holding a cup of tea for him, and he gulps it down as if it was Rihanna’s boob sweat. “I don’t want you to stay here for even a second longer.” 

“Thanks!” Katara sends him a sardonic smile. 

_Fuck_. He always knew how to put his foot in his mouth when he’s around her. “No, uh. Not like that. This place is a hell hole, and I just want you to get back. It’s not safe for you, for anyone here.” She pats his back gently when he starts choking on the tea, trying to get all his words out. He’s so sweet, the way he just quietly tries to draft out a plan while he thinks she’s asleep. She hears him curse whenever a pen snaps with the pressure he applies. With how many times he sighs through the night, she feels guilty. 

She’s entirely too comfortable around Zuko, he decides. She lays in bed next to him and he hopes she doesn't notice the way he’s grown warm with her presence. He craves it too much these days. “You know what, the one thing I’ve learned through all of this is that the first thing I’m going to do when I come back is shutting down Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter.” 

“Not visit your friends and family?” Zuko asks, amusement dancing across his features. 

“That can come second,” Katara asserts. 

Life wasn’t completely terrible. Sure, she cries the moment Zuko leaves the house because she’s sure she’s going to die in this shit fuck of place and never get to her money’s worth of her one year HelloFresh subscription. But she has complete faith in Zuko’s abilities. 

“It’s like during _The Amazing Race_ Season 17 when those two vegetarian doctors ate a goat’s head to win. I think their names were Kat and Nat.” 

“The point?” Zuko tries his best to sound exasperated. 

“The point is, I’ll learn how to adapt for the next week or so. I promise, it’s not all that terrible!” Zuko doesn’t trust her uneasy, twitching eyes, but nods all the same. 

“Hold my hand, motherfucker!” She beams under the attention of the villagers, most of them scoffing when she does her daily send off routine. When Zuko leaves for work, she is insistent on performing their cute couple duties to piss off old people (her other favorite pastime). “Did you remember to bring your water bottle today, stupid bitch?” 

“I think I’d like this more if you asked nicely,” he groused. He likes how small her hand fits in his, but he thinks he’ll boil shoelaces and eat them before he would admit it. 

She’s made one friend, at least. Ty Lee, a girl whose parents are trying to marry her off by the next summer. The older women side eyed her just the same, thinking her big ole titties were too big of a distraction among the eligible men in the village. 

“It came as a shock to us, we still think Zuko is a robot,” Ty Lee admits over a bowl of beef stew. Katara nearly chokes at the spice level. “It’s too bad you’re marrying a lower ranked officer. I know this guy who’s _way_ up there! You could do _so much better_. I think his name’s Chan!” 

“So, Zuko’s basically a nobody here?” 

“Pretty much,” the girl states it like it’s a known fact. “He doesn’t do much, to be honest. But he’s all the old ladies’ favorites because he’s cute and _moody_ . Fuck that, give me _communication_ , you know what I mean?”

Katara could already feel the cogs whirring to life in her brain. “Thanks for letting me know, Ty Lee!” Her chirpy tone has the girl smiling as well. Good, her acting skills haven’t gone rusty. “How come when Zuko makes beef stew, it’s never spicy?” She wipes her nose with a napkin Ty Lee had given her after noticing the impending waterfall of snot. 

Ty Lee ponders it for a second. “Sorry, babe. This is the most mild recipe you can make in the Fire Nation. I didn’t realize you couldn't handle it. Maybe he’s just remixing a classic?” 

Katara tries to hold back her smile. “Yeah, maybe.” 

//

“Babies are broke,” Katara glares at the child in her lap, who only curls in closer to her. 

“Oh my god.” Zuko lets the little boy play with his hair when he wasn’t suffocating Katara’s neck with his other arm. 

“They live in your head and your house rent free. And then they have the audacity to stare at you in their weak ass outfits,” she points out. They’re both squeezed together on a sofa barely holding itself together, and forced to watch over the birthday boy. 

“Don’t be mad. It’s entirely your fault Chungha’s kid laughed so hard it barfed on you.” 

Katara’s exhausted laugh makes Zuko forget his tiredness all the same. “Don’t call the baby an ‘it!’”

Zuko lets the kid bite on his finger, and grabs him from Katara’s hands when he begins tugging on her dress straps. “I still can’t believe you taught Chungha’s daughter to ‘not be the bigger person, and punch a bitch!’ And Chungha still invited you to her son’s party.”

“Talk shit, get hit. Basic stuff.”

He had to admit, coming home and immediately being dragged to a baby’s birthday celebration was not how he saw his night going. Especially after hours of grueling paperwork. 

“He’s _two_ ,” Zuko lets out an annoyed huff. 

“And what about it, bitch?” Katara growls. She has her hair in a complicated updo, complete with the Fire Nation hair ties he recently picked up for her. 

He tries to hide the fact he enjoys this far too much. Domestic things. Things like coming home from work to banter with her. Cooking for Katara while she’s busy socializing with the older wives. He heard from Mako that Katara spends most of her day with the married women. Her plan was to try to move him up the ranks of the military ladder by getting to the lieutenant’s wives first. 

When she’s home and finished washing up, she takes his dress shirts as though they were her’s and wears them to bed. After she’s passed out on the sleeping mat in the living room, he makes it a habit to carry her to the mattress in his room. 

“My bad back likes the hard floor,” he would insist when she would protest. 

He thinks he’s a goner when she even starts trying to make Fire Nation snacks for his lunches. He packs them himself, but somehow misses the minute containers that make their way into his pail. Even if the container somehow always breaks because she forgets to close it properly and he ends the day smelling like fish sauce, he likes it. 

He knows he must be fucking crazy, pretending this was all real. Maybe he was delusional and reading too much into her actions. Maybe he was a fucking idiot. But for a moment, it was easy to pretend he’s a few months away from marrying a pretty girl. A pretty girl busy spending the night playing around with babies they could one day have together. 

He shakes the thought from his head, physically moving his head to make it permeate even deeper. She was going to be back home, safe and sound soon. It was better not to get attached. 

She makes it so fucking hard, though. Especially when she’s wiping away at the creases in his brow before bed. Or asking him through the closed bedroom door to tell her it’s going to be ok, to talk to her until she falls asleep because she likes the sound of his voice.

//

She’s a stone cold bitch. A bitch that could fight with her Swarovski crystal acrylics, and come out virtually unscathed. Someone needs to explain to her exactly _why_ she was crying like a James Charles fake apology video for being a racist at the sight of Chungha’s kid bouncing about, flinging his boogers in her face.

“Maybe if I pray to Azulon hard enough, you guys could have your own little bundle of joy soon!” Chungha exclaims, holding the baby as tight as she could.

After all, when you almost lose a kid, every moment you’re blessed with their breath never feels like enough. You never want to spend another moment away from them. It’s a miracle his fever broke in time for his birthday. Their family couldn’t afford to go to the doctor, with hospitals being a four hour bike ride away. 

“Yeah, sure.” Katara barely could hear her over Yoonjn’s gleeful squeals. 

“I’ll tell Bomi to pray for you guys, too. After what Azulon did for her little Sana, you’ll be pregnant in no time!” 

Katara just squeezes at the baby’s chubby cheek. 

//

“You’re going to kill yourself.” Katara flinches at Zuko’s voice piercing through the quiet night. He’s leaning up against the wall, and emerges from the shadows because he’s dramatic and needed the added effect. She doesn’t miss the way he limps while clutching his side. 

“Shut _up_.” She throws her straw hat at the ground, and flings herself across the sleeping mat, face down. “I’ve had a long night.” 

He wants to be angry with her. He wants to scream at her. He was _livid_. 

“What if you got caught, huh? You could’ve been _executed_.” Zuko knew it wasn’t a coincidence. That the rumors of a spirit going around healing people in the village coincided with someone’s sudden appearance. He thinks the sight of Katara effortlessly waterbending is permanently etched into his memory. The way her face was blissed out, the element easily submitting to her every will. 

Katara knows he’s just worried for her. She knows the occasional rustle of the branches was more than a breeze. But, all she sees is red. “Sounds rich, coming from _you_! What’s your name again? Sorry, my bad. I didn’t know ‘The Blue Spirit’ was a silent vowel in the name ‘Zuko!’”

He waits a beat, before turning to face her. She has his mask in hand, an angry glare screwing her features. 

“How did you—who did—?” His brain was apparently as smooth as Howie Mandel’s head when he needed its help the most. At least he knows where his mask went. 

“My mind is as strong as the Twitter men trying to get Doja Cat to show us her titties.” She rolls her eyes when she sees Zuko pondering. “You leave your Dao swords on display in the living room, and the mask is underneath your bed. I don’t know, let me ask the audience.” 

“Oh.” 

Katara flicks his forehead.

“At least I’m not walking around with some face paint _thinking_ I’m helping these people!” 

She scoffs. “But I am! They’re too sick to afford medication. To even go to the hospital. If they make it, no one _wants_ to help them! You’re telling me I have to just watch them die!” 

Zuko sighs. “You’re giving them _hope_!” 

“In this dumpster fire of a place, yeah! I fucking am! What’s wrong with that? Tell me!” She challenges. She comes up nose to nose with Zuko, eyes darting and impatiently waiting for an answer. 

“What are these people going to do when you’re gone?” _What am I going to do when you’re gone?_ “They think the Painted Lady is _real_!” 

“Let them!” She huffs. “What about you, huh? Going around stealing from the rich to bring back to the villagers? You think you’re any better? You’re going to get killed!” 

Zuko scoffs. “You’re missing the point. The difference between you and me? I’m perfectly fine with dying.” 

Katara grabs his face in between her hands, anger vanishing. “Zuko, don’t say that.” 

“Why the fuck not? Maybe I want to fucking die!” He shouts, ripping his head out of her grasp. “Maybe I’m hoping to get caught!”

“...Why?” Katara croaks. 

“ _You don’t get it_!” He screams. Time seemed to stop when tears fell from Zuko’s eyes. Even when he’s angry, he’s never been this loud with Katara before. He wants to take it all back, stop himself.

She’s at a loss for words. “Zuko, I—”

“This place is a fucking dead end. No one’s going to save us. The Fire Nation doesn’t care about us. The Fire Nation could give less of a fuck. You can’t let people think there’s hope when it’s all a _fucking lie_!” He laughs, the bitter sound foreign to her. “You know, it’s normal to pray for an early death here. You pray that it’s painless. It’s easier to die than live every day trapped in this reality.” 

He loses his grip on the countertop he was leaning on for support. Katara moves to catch him before he falls, and lays him as gently as possible on top of the mat. She makes quick work to heal the gash at his side. A result of following her during her rounds, and fighting off any robbers trying their luck in the night. 

“I thought you were the Kris Jenner of the Southern Water Tribe?” He squeezes out, trying to get her to laugh. She’s touched he remembered her Kardashian-Jenner clan rants. (He’s been Team Stormi since day one.) Then again, he seems to remember every little detail about her. “A businesswoman, right? Didn’t know you were a master waterbender on top of all of that.” 

She snorts, and wipes away her own tears before he could open his eyes again. “I was a paramedic. I wanted to run a clinic at one point.” Zuko winces at the intensity of the water cooling his wound. “Growing up, I hated the business world. It was all backstabbing and boring bitches. But sometimes, it’s easier.” She’s silent for a while, focused only on the healing process. 

“I—I couldn’t save a lot of people,” her voice drops down to a barely audible whisper, and her brows furrow. 

They’re shoulder to shoulder on the mat after she wraps up his cut. They’re staring up at the cracks of his ceiling. 

“Do you ever miss it?” Zuko rasps. 

“Bending?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sometimes.” She lets silence fill the air for a moment. “ _It’s second nature to me._ Fuck, I was bending before I could even talk. Is it bad that I gave up on it? Is it bad it makes me sick to my stomach?” 

Something she loved, she couldn’t stand to do again. 

She couldn’t save her mom. She couldn’t save her niece. What was the point anymore? 

He wraps his hand around hers. 

//

“What do you think we would have been like, in another life?” Zuko groans, laying down beside Katara. She’s sprawled out, still taking in heavy breaths after breaking into an intense run. His side still aches. He thinks his arm is broken from fighting off the soldiers while carrying the dozens of survivors. 

The captain in a nearby village was sentenced to a public execution later in the week. He wanted to go out on his own terms and take his village with him, too. Trying to sacrifice people to the Gods above for forgiveness, he set the place ablaze. 

It’s too bad The Painted Lady got wind of it first. 

“Hm?” Katara hums, healing a cut on her face. “I’d like to think Katara in another life got to be normal. Like just owning a Chevy and living life without ever having to acknowledge Timothee Chalamat’s existence type of normal. She’s happy. She doesn’t develop an addiction to Prozac. She probably has a small white dog named Mochi that can fit into a knock-off Fendi purse.” 

“Really? No butt-warming toilets in her life?” 

“Nah. She could be the Mayor of Boo Boo the Foolville without any consequences.” She can’t recall a time when she’s felt so free. When her words flow out without carefully being measured. The stars feel like daylight. The expanses of the village’s nearby river tugging at her heart strings. “She could bend without constantly thinking of what could’ve been.” 

“Zuko in another life would’ve been a piano player.” It still stings. Thinking about the future that could’ve been. 

“Not a full time Blue Spirit?” She teases. 

“Full time Blue Spirit doesn’t pay the bills, surprisingly.” 

He turns his head and sees her nose crinkle. He’s sure it should be illegal for someone to be this beautiful. 

“This kid I healed, he made his own Blue Spirit costume. He’s been wearing it every day, and treated it like it’s this season’s Versace,” Katara murmurs. He laughs, loud and unbridled. 

“Yeah? I saw a bunch of little girls with their Painted Lady dolls.” They were holding onto them until their knuckles turned white, even with Zuko dangling them from his shoulders.

Katara’s heart swells. “I think I’m going to cry.”

Zuko nudges her shoulder with his when he hears her mock-sniffles. 

“Did you know I told this guy ‘it’s time to evacuate!’ while he was mid-masturbation.” 

Katara’s stomach is starting to hurt with how hard she’s squealing. “You’re _lying_! Please, say sike!”

Zuko throws his hands up. “I couldn’t make this up even if I tried. He was all like, ‘You mean time to ejaculate!’” Zuko finishes the story in a dude-bro voice. 

At this point, Katara was shaking uncontrollably, and it’s infectious. He can’t help laughing, too. 

A beat of silence passes between the duo, too distracted by the night sky. 

Zuko rubs a hand over his face, determined to stay awake to see her fall asleep. 

“What would Zuko and Katara have been in another life?” Katara whispers wistfully. 

He glances over to her, eyes heavy. “I think being _us_ would have been easier, in another life.” Her light snores fill the air. “At least then, I could be by your side.” 

He nudges her head until it fits securely in the crook of his shoulder. 

//

“Sit there and look pretty!” 

“No!” 

“All I’m asking you to do is sit and blink!” Katara had run into a kid with a smuggled polaroid camera trying to snap photos of her. In return for not slicing open his urethra with a dull butter knife, she was trying to force him to take photos of Zuko. After all, she wanted a memento of her time with him. 

The teen nervously glanced between the two, the camera shaking in his grasp. 

“I think I’m going to go find my mom…” 

“Pussy bitch!” Katara screams at the running boy. 

“Old ass hoe!” He yelps back. 

Zuko knew it was a mistake taking Katara to the night market. As a celebration of the Mid-Autumn Festival, curfews were relaxed. The marketplace opened up to sell street food into the night. There’s singing, dancing, laughing, drinking. A night to forget, a night meant for happiness. 

He thinks it’s ridiculous. The way she doesn’t notice the way guys look at her. He’s spent the better part of the night standing in front of her if any man was brave enough to glance in her general direction. At night, she was in her element, her smile was a blinding thing that made his heart race. She doesn’t pay any mind to anyone staring, to anyone trying to get her attention. She’s just taking in the little moments around her, eyes so bright and stares so wide. Like she’s afraid to miss a single detail with just a blink. 

“Your breath smells like stupid bitch,” Katara points out after what had to be his 20th grunt of the night. She’s sure he’s holding her close to make sure they still played a newly engaged couple. She relishes in the attention all the same. 

“Sorry.” He sulks like a child, and it makes Katara want to hug him. 

She pecks his cheek and he freezes. “Look! He bought his girlfriend that potato on a stick thing!” 

Zuko rushes off without any hesitation. 

He picks the fire flakes off the potato slices before handing it to her. She practically inhales the snack, and he frets. He thinks she’s about to stab herself with the skewer. “Oh look!” She points to another couple, while pouting. “He won her a stuffed dragon.” 

Zuko couldn’t stand to see her upset, even for a second. 

When she’s hugging the plushie close to her, Zuko throws his arm around her. She stops in her tracks. “Oh my god! Is that ice cream—” He runs to find the vendor without even thinking. 

“Number 43!” The vendor yelps. Zuko instantly recognizes the greasy teenager picking up the order in front of him.

“Give me the photos you took of my fiancé,” he says, panting. He practically ran at lightning speed to catch up to the kid, who intentionally rushed off after feeling Zuko glaring him down from a distance. The boy feels his bladder shaking.

“But—but you didn’t want a photo! You—” Zuko’s best menacing scowl had the kid scrambling through his pockets. “She could do better, you know!” He petulantly points out, before throwing the photo in the air and taking off. 

Zuko lets himself smile after tucking Katara’s picture safely into his wallet. He knew he told himself he wouldn’t get attached. Though, it's not his fault she’s cast him under her spell. 

//

He’s pouting. She’s struggling not to laugh in his face. 

“This is mine, now.” He indignantly rips the toy of her hold, squishing it to his chest instead. 

“Why?” she questions. 

“If you want one so bad, ask Chan to win you one.” She straight up guffaws in his face. Zuko had caught Chan hugging her out of excitement. Ty Lee _finally_ agreed to a date with him, all thanks to Katara meddling. 

“I can’t believe you’d cheat on me!” Zuko scowls. He’s more cute than terrifying, and Katara just rolls her eyes. “I thought I was the only one you call ‘babe!’” He tries protesting. 

Katara snorts. “That was short for ‘beyblade.’ Let it rip, motherfucker!” 

“Am I not a good husband-to-be? Is that what it is? Do you feel neglected, _babe_?” He’s just fucking with her at this point, his childish pout threatening to bleed into a full blown laugh. He’s biking them back home, with Katara seated at the front on only a towel. She misses her Tesla. 

“For starters, your toes look like gorilla knuckles. They look like they could wrap completely around a baseball.” 

“Hey!” 

“Be honest. Has anyone ever sucked your toes until you creamed yourself?” Katara’s favorite pastime is making Zuko blush. 

She turns back to him to see his reddening face. “Oh my god! Look at how cute you are! I think my stomach has the butterflies!” Zuko just grows positively crimson at her mocking tone. He’ll blame the warming weather, though. 

“Kill them. I won’t treat you right,” Zuko murmurs. Katara just swats at his head. “Didn’t I shoot at you? Love yourself, Katara.” 

Once they reach his house, she jumps off the bicycle, and grabs Zuko by the shoulders. “Hey.” 

“What?” He can’t help being mesmerized by her eyes. 

“I think I’ll miss you,” Katara breathes. 

“You have to leave first for you to miss me.” Zuko wraps her up in a tight hug. 

He feels selfish when he wishes moments with Katara could last a lifetime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL BE A PART 2 I SWEAR BY THE END OF THE WEEKISH 
> 
> how is everyone doing??? I miss u guys! I am so crusty and I have been rewatching Crash Landing on You everyone is sick of me! I am sick of me 
> 
> title is based off Alina Baraz's [Off the Grid!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-mlWA-KwEo)  
> I love love love her! Please recommend me songs!! I'll rec one back hehe bc I miss everyone
> 
> ALSO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DEBBY RYAN today is her birthday omg I'm so sorry I had to call her out today!!


	2. heart crusher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW WHY DID I LIE TO EVERYONE LIKE THAT OMG PLEASE FEEL FREE TO BEAT MY ASS I am so so so sorry for being the most inconsistent bitch
> 
> THANK U FOR THE LOVE AND THE WONDERFUL COMMENTS

“I have a fiancé.” 

Katara pauses for a beat. “And I have an untreated ovarian cyst. What’s the problem? Why are you telling me things I already know?” She sends him a questioning look as she undoes the intricate ties to her sandals. Something new Zuko recently purchased for her. 

She wished curfew didn’t have to end the bliss she felt. Her days usually were always filled with tight clothes and pinchy heels that were just too tall and nervous decisions and pen marks on her hands. Of course, she’d grown to love the hustle and bustle of her life. If she didn’t love it, she wouldn’t have fought and bet her life on the stakes of being the next big CEO. She loved the clothes and purses and power she held. It was rare, though. Rare for her to take a break, for her to enjoy a break. Going to the festival and letting her mind wander felt  _ dangerous _ . She enjoyed it far too much. It was like a drug, a sweet thing that she knew would make her throat ache and her mind hazy if she let herself enjoy it for too long. 

“No, like a real fiancé. Like one I was supposed to be married off to since I was 13.” Zuko looks sheepish. Purposefully looking at anything but her. Besides, the baby rat crawling in the corner of the room was definitely far more interesting than Katara’s face. 

It didn’t make sense he felt so guilty. He worried that she was going to kick him out the house but then remembered it was his house. It was his life. It was his fake relationship. So why did he feel so bad when he watches her neutral features slip up for the briefest of seconds? 

It didn’t feel right. He was supposed to be married by the next year. A promise that’s been set in stone for over a decade. It just didn’t feel right that his heart was just mere moments away from being permanently owned by another woman. 

“Oh, well. Good for you.” If he noticed the sound of her sandal straps snapping violently in her hands, he doesn’t make any indication he’s heard it. She’s nonchalant. The picture perfect poster child of  _ cool, calm, collected _ . 

It doesn’t mean it hurt any less when she’s all but yanked against her will back down to Earth. Back down to the fact that Zuko wasn’t hers. The fact that he’ll never be hers. The fact that none of this was  _ real _ . 

Katara had gone years of her life without any interest in men. Ignoring men was a form of self-care that she happily indulged in. 

It was something else, being a girl and being in love. Nothing was ever easy for girls, love was no exception. She’s seen love in the movies, read about it in books and it was never quite like real life. Watching your friends get broken piece-by-piece and then spend years rebuilding their strength, only to watch the cycle repeat itself was something Katara couldn’t wrap her head around. She’d sit back and watch her friends threaten to slash open tires to the tune of Carrie Underwood, and experience the pain of heartbreak. Throughout her life, she’d watch the women around her get hurt over and over again. Katara was always told she felt too much, loved too much with all of her heart. Gran Gran always told her she had the type of heart that made love dangerous, made love a lethal thing without its permission. She cried along with her friends, grew angry with them, too. But she swore she would never let her heart go through that pain. 

Without giving it a single thought, she promised she’d close herself off. Nothing could penetrate an icy barrier. No one could hurt her if she didn’t shut them out first. After all, she was nicknamed the resident Ice Queen of the Water Tribes. 

It was expected of an heiress to marry a dick whose parents’ company would benefit her own in their alliance. It was heavily inscribed in whatever heiress manual there was out there. Love wasn’t a welcome thing in her life in the first place, it was stupid thing. A thing that could cloud business deals if you weren’t careful. But Katara was meticulous in all senses. The Ice Queen herself wouldn’t settle for just any bare minimum, Jason Derulo-esque penis. 

Everyone thought her standards were far too high. Was it bad she wanted to find a man who wasn’t stupid and didn’t have a habit of speaking too often? Apparently that was asking for too much. She had flings here and there, but none of them were genuine. None of them were more than PR relationships carefully plotted out beforehand to promote a joint company product deal. Even so, the ones she’d manage to meet organically were interested in nothing more than what she could do for them. What value she could bring to their business. What she would look like behind them on the cover of  _ Business Insider _ . 

She felt so unsure of herself since she’s been in the Fire Nation. It was entirely out of her depth. She wasn’t entirely used to being wrong, or not knowing what came next. Everything in her life was well planned out on Google Calendar and an Excel spreadsheet until the day she died. 

She never planned for Zuko, though. There was something different about him. The way he wasn’t like other men and actually knew how to use his ears. He listened so carefully, and she could tell with the way his eyes never left her face when she talked. 

_ She wakes to Zuko crushing something up with his mortar and pestle and steaming water encasing the kitchen. He gingerly places a cup into her hands. “I know you said you missed waking up to the smell of coffee so I—”  _

_ “It’s delicious!” Katara’s exclamation generates a flush on his cheeks _ .  _ He bows his head and smiles while he continues to grind the coffee beans. He’s just so cute. Katara wants to pinch his cheeks.  _

He was patient, too. He’s never made her feel bad when she can’t help but mess up every little thing in his life. No, Zuko was too good a man to say the truth that she just knew deep down. That she makes his life harder than it needed it to be. 

“I’m sorry,” Katara hiccups, head spinning. She’s never been one to cry, but the tears fall without warning and she wipes them away as fast as they come. She looks ashamed, almost. Guilty for showing this much emotion in front of him. She always had to be the strong one for people. If you could get an award for bottling up your emotions until you snapped, she’d happily show off her therapy co-pays as proof of her win. She wasn’t allowed to  _ feel _ in case the press caught her on a bad day and questioned her abilities. Men were allowed to be mediocre. Being a woman in charge sometimes meant letting go of the things that made you human, made you seem weak. She’s long forgotten what it meant to be just  _ Katara _ . 

She’s also long forgotten what it was like to talk shit about someone with a group of girlfriends, passing around cheap beer and screaming into the night while someone constantly encourages her to kick a pussy and another person is vomiting into a shoe. 

“The fish had little babies!” Katara presses her red face against Chungha’s fish tank, watching the swarm of baby fish circling around their mother. 

Bomi sighs. “Stop pouring the wine in the fish tank.”

She pouts. “But they want to celebrate, too.” She just takes a disappointed swig from the bottle. 

“Focus on the situation at hand! Zuko is cheating on you!”

The ladies of the village had run into Mai as she waited patiently outside Zuko’s house. Coming back after studying abroad in the Earth Nation for the last ten years, she was proud to announce her ‘fiancé’ status to the curious women walking by. Apparently, she was a master flute player on top of being poised, pretty, and perfect. 

“How are you emotionally unavailable  _ and  _ a whore? Pick a struggle!” Doyeon screams, fire flakes spitting out of her mouth and onto Katara’s face. 

Katara already heard Bomi whisper she won’t put in a good word to her husband for Zuko, and she was trying to avoid any complications. “Guys, really. I’m ok. We’re ok. We’re just trying to work things out right now!” 

“Just stab him.”

Of course, the women were absolutely enraged, too angry to even talk. Who knew sweet Zuko was actually community peen and pussy bending his way through life? 

“That’s what you always say, Chungha! You’re always like ‘I’m gonna stab him the next time he cheats!’ And then he cheats, and what do you do? You cry!’” Bomi yelps. 

“It cancels out,” Chungha says, thoroughly chastised. 

“Like PEMDAS,” Katara helpfully provides. 

So when she drunkenly wobbles back home, with Chungha’s husband’s combat boots because she thinks her shoe was the one that was vomited into, she didn’t expect to walk in on Zuko trying his best to break open a jackfruit. Of course, she’s afraid he’s going to hurt himself so she snatches the knife out of his hands. And of course, she breaks his knife trying to cut through a stubborn thing, and proceeds to burst into tears. 

He was so excited to bring the giant, prickly thing home from the market. A result of the nation’s semi-annual trade of Earth Nation goods, the jackfruit was already ripe and ready to be picked apart. The vendor had given him a sample before he bought it, and the sweet taste had him excited all day to eat it with Katara. Until her tears had him dropping anything to bring the pretty smile back to her face again. 

Zuko’s perplexed by her. Everything about her was a damn contradiction. How she was so tiny and petite, with soft curves and round eyes that made her so beautiful and delicate. And then she’s easily fighting off military men without a second thought, water whips coming out to their throats. He could see it in her eyes, the way she enjoys watching them bend to her will. And any thought of her being delicate and fragile is wiped from his mind. 

She’s powerful, easily one of the strongest and smartest people he’s ever met. When she shows more of herself, the parts of her that weren’t thought out or carefully calculated and were just authentically  _ her _ , he finds it oh so endearing. 

He doesn’t understand how she hasn’t noticed it. How she hasn’t noticed the fact that she has him wrapped so securely around her dainty pinky. 

_ “Have you seen our shirt?” Katara asks, poking around the dirty laundry pile. Her knuckles still ache from hand washing and scrubbing the clothes.  _

_ “You mean my shirt?” Zuko chokes out.  _

_ “Yeah. Our shirt.” He can’t bring himself to be frustrated, and helps her look for the damn thing, too.  _

Maybe it was because she hadn’t let herself feel the true reality of her situation so something as dumb as a knife breaking pushed her over the edge. Maybe it was because the alcohol was rushing to her head and making everything and a tit sensitive. Maybe she couldn’t stop herself from crying because of the way he just looked at her warmly instead of growing mad. Instead, he just reached for her hands and asked if she was ok before anything else. 

“You’re not mad at me?” She’s sniveling and embarrassed and burping while hiccuping and smells like beer and dumb bitch and wants to just disappear. He presses his thumbs to the tears falling at her cheeks, wiping them away before they could drip off her chin. 

“Never,” he says with a reassuring smile. 

It’s hours later when he knocks on his bedroom door. She looked so cozy, wrapped up his blanket, hair pinned up and still dripping wet that it was making his pillow case damp. She was boredly flipping through one of his old piano music theory books until her head perks up at his entrance. 

He gently places the plate of the fruit on the nightstand and sits in the bed next to her legs. “Hey.” 

She drops the books into her lap. “Hi,” she says, timid. Looking everywhere but his face. 

He pins her with a knowing stare. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She lies instantly. 

He tries to ignore it at first and changes the topic. “I uh. Brought you some of the jackfruit.” 

“Good, you’re practicing. You’re perfect for the role of ethnic parent trying to beg for forgiveness after beating you,” Katara points out. She’s already chewing on the slices he made sure to pick the large seeds out of and smiling as the juices burst in her mouth. 

“I’m worried about you, Katara.” He’s easily noticed she hasn’t been eating with the same vigor during dinner time. In the middle of the night, he could hear her wrestle with the sheets, twisting and turning and shaking the bed frame. Some of the ladies in the village have even come up to him, threatening to forcibly feed him his own fingernails as though he was the cause of her sudden quiet demeanor.

“Don’t be.” She sounds almost exasperated. It’s her fault he has to worry about word getting out about his two fiancés. It’s her fault he has to cook for two instead of one. It’s her fault he’s worrying about her, when he’s only had to worry about his own life for the past few years. “It’s...it’s just been a lot, the last couple of days.” 

Besides the stress of her defending her reputation, her nights were occupied with thoughts of The Painted Lady. 

They’ve made it a routine to patrol the village at night together. It was dangerous for either of them to go alone and it just made sense of them to team up. For Zuko to watch her back as she healed whoever needed help that night. Or Katara to fight alongside him when the group of rookie soldiers tried to attack an orphaned kid and his little sister hiding in people’s backyards. The next day at the military base, Zuko would make sure to  _ accidentally _ trip the soldiers and add to their collection of bruises and bumps. 

She could never expect after landing in the fucking  _ Fire Nation _ she would be bending and healing and fighting again after nearly a decade of avoiding it. She certainly didn’t expect helping someone give birth in the middle of the night. 

“Where the fuck is my water!” Katara screams at Zuko, who is positively lightheaded. From what he learned in school, and heard from the women in his life, he imagined childbirth to be just screaming and blaming the penis that knocked them up in the first place. His core was positively shaken at the sight of blood and guts and poop and a baby’s head that looked like a naked mole rat. 

Katara just snatches the pails without sparing him a glance, mind too preoccupied by Ying’s screams of pain. “You’re doing so good, Ying! Give me another push.” Katara works fast and gestures to Zuko to hand her more rags. He numbly tosses them into her grasp. 

“The Painted Lady, will you do me the honor of castrating my husband after this is all over?” She says between sweaty pants. 

Katara briefly stares at her husband, Than, whose eyes meet hers with a pleading look. “Give me a night to sleep on that request.” 

She hears a thud. “Oh my god!” Than gasps, after watching Zuko collapse. 

“What’s happening?” Ying yelps. 

Katara’s concentrated as ever and doesn’t move her stare from in between the woman’s legs. “He’s just being a little bitch. Anyways, one more push for me, Ying!” 

“You want to be the one to tell her that her baby name sucks and her kid will be bullied, or should I do it?” She whispers in Zuko’s ear as they give the new mother space and stand outside the house. 

“ _ Katara _ .” 

She sticks her tongue out at his incredulous look. 

“Your little girl’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Katara calls out. She can’t stop grinning and feels her face ache. When she turns her head, she sees Zuko mindlessly rubbing the sore spot on his arm that took the brunt of his fall. There’s something about a mother’s touch that forces him to still. His body refusing to let him move, only allowing him to lean against the door and just take it all in. It was captivating the way mothers fall in love so easily with their children. He sees it with the bliss on Ying’s face as she coos her baby to sleep. 

“Did you ever want to have kids?” Zuko wonders out loud. The adrenaline rush from their nights often keeps the duo up late as they talk about the events of the night, just laying on the living room sleeping mat. 

“Not really, no,” she replies instantly, without giving it a second thought. 

“Me either.” 

They breathe out almost simultaneously. 

The thing with Zuko was that he gave her all the space she needed. As they grew more comfortable with each other, he never once pressured her to explain anything. During Mother’s Day, she could hear kids present their best flower bouquets to doting moms, or the smoke coming from houses as bumbling teens scrambled to cook an edible “surprise” breakfast. But she saw the look in his eyes.

It was the one she often saw in herself. The days where she couldn’t breathe and stared in the mirror to try and remember who she was underneath all the ugly pain. They spent that entire day in silence, until nighttime fell. 

_ “My mom used to take me to a little beach at the edge of the Southern Water Tribe _ . _ We could talk for hours, even until our faces were frozen.”  _

_ Zuko laughed along with Katara, and wished he could see a baby picture. “My mom’s favorite place was this turtle duck pond we had in our backyard. I wish I could take you there someday.” _

That night, it felt easier to breathe with him by her side, clasping her hand. 

Zuko sighs. “It just seems so fucking hard. I really can’t babysit. After babies tell me ‘no’ two times, I just give up and let them do what they want. Vive la résistance!” 

Katara smacks his chest, and he holds his man tit protectively. “I was always worried I was going to fuck up, you know? Make them fucked up. How could I be a parent to someone without ever getting the chance to be a child first?” 

Zuko whistles. “That was deep.” She nudges him in the shoulder before rolling her eyes. 

“Did you know goats can immediately get up after giving birth?” 

“And what for?” He nervously inquires. 

“I don’t know. Probably tax fraud. And babies basically slip and slide out of dogs. Like a conveyor belt. Or a park slide.” 

“Stop it.” He begs. 

“Are you still traumatized?” She mindlessly picks at the dirt at her nails and tries to ignore the horrified look on his face. 

Zuko shudders. “Perhaps.” 

She giggles, throwing her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. “You better get used to it.” 

_ “Stop reaching for my tit. I swear I don’t have anything in there,” she warns the baby, holding little Hope and rocking her back and forth. The morning after helping Ying, the entire village immediately flooded into her home with celebratory food, ancient herbs, good luck prayers, and old baby clothes to give away.  _

_ Chungha clandestinely comes behind Katara to press a cold hand against her stomach. She jolts up, shaking Hope, who only squeals in return. “Is the village going to have two happy announcements today?”  _

_ Katara snorts. “Relax, bitch. Deep fried green onion pancakes do a number on my metabolism.”  _

_ Chungha pinches the girl’s side. “You better get working fast! Those eggs expire faster than a marriage’s integrity after you find out his nephew he’s been mentoring for the last few years was actually his secret love child he had with his best friend’s ex-wife.”  _

_ “Your experiences are not universal, Chungha.” _

_ The woman ignores Katara all together. “Zuko would be such a good father!” She’s practically melting when she gestures to the scene in front of her. _

_ “Zuko! Zuko! Your thoughts on today’s menu?” Chungha’s daughter, Mina, was in her news reporter persona. Her microphone (a plastic spoon) was shoved right against his mouth. The other kids at the mini table immediately snap their heads towards Zuko.  _

_ “Hmm.” He takes an imaginary bite out of the plastic broccoli toy. If Katara could take a picture of the scene, she most definitely would. The tiny, Sleeping Beauty themed seat he’s in looks about 2 seconds away from collapsing. All the kids surrounding him were nervously holding their breaths, and one even reached on their tippy toes to adjust the Sleeping Beauty toy crown they’ve placed on his head. “See, I don’t know!” He sips absentmindedly at the empty toy Peppa Pig teacup. It was part of a set he stole from a rich family and slipped into Chungha’s home a few nights prior. “You’re the best chef in the world, Mina. How could I ever decide?”  _

_ He pretends to be agonized, grasping at the ends of his hair and slamming his chest. “You’re tearing me apart!” He gently falls from his chair, and all the kids excitedly squeal and immediately stack on top of his solid body, a favorite game of theirs they don’t often get to play. They’re giggling as loud as they possibly can. _

_ “Zuko, at the moment, has no comment,” Mina reports to a nonexistent camera. _

“You’ll be the best dad one day.” She could already imagine the kids Zuko and Mai could have. She wonders whose signature glare they’d inherit, and wishes she could meet them in person one day. 

“Yeah?” He turns his head to face her. 

Her smile is identical to his. “Yeah.” 

//

“This place is  _ real  _ fancy. The bathroom even has mints!” She expected Zuko to be waiting outside the bathroom, but he’s nowhere to be found. 

“Correction: had mints.” He triumphantly holds up her purse now filled to the brim with the treats as he emerges from the men’s bathroom. 

“Zuko, this is the last time I’m ever letting you hold my purse.” He smacks her side lightly with the bag before handing it over. She’s extra careful with it, making sure to gently place the bag back on its spot on her arm. After all, it was a parting gift from the women in the village. 

She doesn’t think the memory could be wiped from her mind. The sight of the women nearly strangling the pawn shop owner after he would only hand over a few meager dollars for Katara’s Rolex GMT Master.

“Just waddle away now.” The shop owner waved the heavily pregnant Jisoo away, as though she was nothing more than a gnat. 

“I’m  _ preggars _ . You can’t tell me to waddle away, you fucking gremlin.” 

The man pauses in inspecting the weight of someone’s toy Captain America shield, and stares carefully at her. “Excuse me?” 

Jisoo just huffs, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “You heard me! I look this good 8 months pregnant and my ass is still getting eaten!  _ You  _ can eat shit.” She steals a couple bills from his register before rushing off the fastest Katara has ever seen a pregnant woman run. 

Throughout the week, the women were trying their best to prepare her for a day in the Fire Nation capital. Sometimes, she hears sniffles here and there, and she finds herself tearing up, too. They were teaching her how to tie her hair up in complicated ways, buying her new bracelets, and dressing her up to make sure she blended in with the Fire Nation’s upper class. 

“You—you look really pretty,” Bolin squeezes out in between bites of Zuko’s noodles of the night. It was meant  _ just  _ for Katara. He should have been more suspicious when she asked him to make double the amount that night. Of course, he did it without question. But he should’ve known she had a soft spot for some of his men. He thinks she gave them his office chair and his month's supply of potatoes as a goodbye gift. 

“I am looking. Respectfully.” Mako flushes when Katara smiles his way. He would’ve stood and stared for infinitely longer, but he thinks his captain would break the vein open on his forehead from how hard it was pulsating. 

“B—but I told you the exact same thing earlier today and you just gagged!” Zuko protests. 

While the men stare incredulously at Zuko, Katara rolls her eyes. 

“Bolin, Mako, you’re too sweet!” Zuko almost growls when she squeezes their shoulders, and they immediately blush from head to toe. 

She then turns to Zuko. 

“Zuko, shut up.” 

“ _ Zuko, shut up _ .” He mocks in a shrill voice. 

The boys wince when she lightly flicks his forehead. Nothing to do too much damage, but they were still waiting for an explosive response back. Instead, the military captain just grumbled, and even got up to wash Katara’s bowl for her. 

“What’s going on with you and Sapphire?” Mako murmurs, coming up to Zuko cleaning the pots and pans while Katara was packing. 

Zuko almost asks “Who?” Before remembering the fake name Katara had given everyone. 

_ “Sapphire Fire. Really?” He thinks he peed himself after the laughter takes over his body. _

_ She almost clawed the smirk right off his face _ . 

“Um, nothing.” He scowls. 

“So what are you guys?” Bolin jabs at Mako’s arm and crosses his arms into an X, trying to gesture at him to  _ stop asking questions before he slits someone’s throat with the knife he was washing _ . 

“Just friends.” They don’t miss his disappointed tone. 

“Is she the type of friend that gives you handjobs, or is she a bad friend?” Zuko freezes while scrubbing the knife, and the boys immediately duck out of habit. 

//

  
  


Zuko makes sure to scan his surroundings before handing over his identification card. Passport making was limited to only the few elite for business purposes in the Fire Nation capital’s hotel. 

Uncle Iroh was coming back to the Fire Nation to negotiate trade agreements and Zuko hatched another plan for her escape after decoding his uncle’s rare emails to his work computer. After handing over his position as military director to Ozai, he left for the Earth Nation and has served as an ambassador for their relations with the Fire Nation ever since. He just needed to create an Earth Nation passport for her to pass off as one of Iroh’s assistants, and get on the ship with him when he returns. 

When she looks around in the hotel, it’s opulence and more. Crystal chandeliers that glimmer in the light. Everything dripping in fiery red and golden accents illuminated by everlasting flames surrounding the floor to ceiling columns. She’d never expected he would be able to afford  _ two  _ rooms, a necessity considering the train ride to and from the village was only available in the morning. 

“Come take a picture with me. When are we ever going to get a 50% off wedding portraits deal again?” Her ass aches from sitting on the chair for what felt like hours waiting for the camera to warm up. 

His glare was all that was needed for her to keep her lips sealed. “Sorry,” she whispers to the shop owner who sends her a sympathetic look. He even promised her he would put a filter over it. 

When Katara’s out of earshot and content with walking around the adjacent hotel lobby, Zuko meets the shop owner’s eyes. “Can I get an extra copy of her passport photo?” 

“Sure,” he whispers back, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. 

//

He’s just as handsome as she remembered. She imagined him a thousand, maybe a million times in her head. All the want and desire that she’s held onto for the past ten years. Holding off on glancing anyone’s way because her heart had belonged to him since they were kids. Everything that gave her hope throughout the years was finally culminating into a pathetic fucking mess. 

She just wanted a moment to breathe.

“You’re a little  _ bitch _ .” Katara doesn’t miss when Mai reaches up to rub at her temples there’s a glint of the knives hidden under her billowing sleeves. 

“Yeah, I deserved that.” He rubs sheepishly at his neck. He was the military director’s son about to marry off to the daughter of the military’s head strategist. It wasn’t a good look to be caught in a hotel with another woman. Especially by other high society women who dutifully reported back to Mai’s mother. 

Mai had been playing diplomat since she could produce solid shit. She brushed it off, reminding the ladies that her soon-to-be beau was working on a covert operation with an agent from Division 11. She relished in their apologetic pleas for her not to use her influence and interfere with their husbands’ careers. 

Well, they should’ve thought of that before they decided they wanted to fuck with her. 

She scoffs and quickly trains her features. “Why would you embarrass me like that?” Her words reveal everything but boredom. Their world was all about reputation. They couldn’t afford to make the same type of mistakes Zuko was indulging in. He knew better than this. He learned his lesson the first time he fucked up and disobeyed his father. 

After their families met to arrange their marriage, Mai always remembered him as the obedient son who finally learned their life was just so much fucking easier when you cut your losses and became a man of few words. She remembered him as the son content to do his duty and spend his entire life serving their country. 

By the looks of it, she was sorely wrong. 

“I’m sorry. I—” 

She stares at him, almost stripping him down bit by bit with her eyes. He feels raw, vulnerable. “You never  _ think _ Zuko.” 

It takes everything in him not to match her volume. He wants to calm himself down. Even as kids, she knew how to get a rise out of him. Exactly which buttons to push to send him over the edge. 

Mai’s practically nose to nose with him. “See? This is  _ your  _ world, and we’re just living in it, right? It’s the  _ Zuko Show _ .” She even brings out the jazz hands to emphasize her point. “You never seem to wrap your head around the fucking fact your shit effects everyone else in your life, too.” 

“Stop it,” he says, jaw clenching.

Mai furrows her brow. “Why should I? Huh? Why the fuck should—”

“Hi, nice to meet you! I’m his coworker.” Katara jumps between the duo who seem like they’re ten seconds from ripping off each other’s nipples and wearing them like earrings. A nervous smile trying to placate the intensity of the encounter. 

Mai gingerly shakes Katara’s hand. She was raised to be a lady, after all. 

She doesn’t return her smile. 

She’s pretty. Mai remembered seeing the photos on the gossiping ladies’ phones before quickly deleting them. It made her sick to her stomach to see how easily he smiled when he was around her, even trying his hardest to hold it back before it split into something so happy and too handsome. For as long as she could remember, Zuko was all scowls and unrestrained anger. He was a loose canon, someone who felt too much all at the same time. 

Once upon a time, she couldn’t stand to be near him. She thought it was a punishment, being married off to a disgraced member of the royal family. Her entire future, flushed down the drain by her fucking  _ parents _ of all people. Granted, they had her best interests in mind and wanted her to continue the lifestyle she grew up in. That didn’t mean she wasn’t angry. Of course, she’d never show it. No, her intense childhood training in numbing her emotions had to pay off somehow. But underneath the cold exterior, she was fucking angry. Angry about the rules that boxed women in until only their marriage defined them. Angry about the half-assed efforts he would put in to try and get her to feel better. She didn’t appreciate it then. 

Not until she realized, he was the only one who cared. The only one who  _ wanted _ to get to know her. The only one who understood what it was like to grow up the way they did. It was too late, though. By the time she wanted to let him know she was going to try to make whatever they had work, she was off studying overseas. 

It was like an emotional crutch. Spending her flute practices dreaming about the day she would come back and  _ finally _ be able to have the person who understood her best. 

It was naive of her to expect him to be the same. To expect everything to be the same. 

She’s spent her whole life forced to hide who she was until she became a shell of a person. She’s angry, the angriest she’s ever been at him. 

How could Zuko just throw her away so easily? 

Feeling jealousy could never quite match how humiliating being someone’s second choice could be. That’s where true cruelty, true heartbreak lies. Intentional or not. 

Her parents insisted on having dinner with Iroh and Zuko in the hotel, to celebrate Mai’s homecoming. Predictably, it was a fucking mess. Zuko was perfectly fine with sitting in the corner, barely touching his smoked sea slug, and sipping quietly at his tea while Uncle Iroh kept yelling about said tea’s flavor. Her mother, with her hair coiffed to the heavens, kept slipping her reminders every twenty seconds. To fix her lipstick because Zuko didn’t like unkempt women. To go to the bathroom and powder her nose because she could see her own reflection in it. 

“He gives you butterflies. In a year’s time, he’ll be giving me pregnancy scares. We are not the same.” Mai didn’t understand why she wanted Katara to feel as small as she did in that moment. It was the first thing that came to mind when she ran into Katara, shoving the bathroom’s complimentary mints in her purse. 

“I hope the fuck we aren’t!” Katara swiftly peers down to her own stomach in confusion. Mai scoffs. When Katara could feel her losing control of her cool, she sent a quick prayer to Rihanna for any type of strength in that moment. She wanted to try her best at extending an olive branch. “Um, well. Zuko told me about you. I wish I could stay for your wedding. You’re going to be such a beautiful bride.”

“You’re his coworker, right? Maybe stay out of his personal business?” Mai hates the way the anger in her voice is so palpable, especially when she’s just trying to filter out any emotion.

“Look,” Katara meets Mai’s eyes, who swiftly dodges her stare and pretends to keep looking in her bag for her powder brush. “I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to start any drama. Or overstep your relationship’s boundaries, or make things more complicated than it needed to be. I’m—I’m really sorry we had to meet like that.” 

“Yeah?” Mai sighs. “Me too,” she admits genuinely. 

“I—I know you’ll take good care of him. I’m...going to be on another mission soon, and don’t know when I’ll be back,” Katara fibs, wincing. She hopes it didn’t sound too robotic. Mai just seemed like someone who could smell stupid bitch. “I know you’ll be someone he can rely on. Promise me, you won’t prove me wrong?” 

Mai takes a calming breath. She was tired of the whole night. Tired of putting on a front. Tired of being angry. Katara wasn’t this man-stealing bitch her mind desperately wanted her to be. She doesn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Fuck, I’m—I’m  _ sorry _ .” She runs a hand through her bangs, before patting them down so they land perfectly in place. “It’s just that—like I don’t—I’m just—,” her words are garbled because everything was confusing. “I love him,” she admits quietly. 

Love was confusing. 

Katara slowly nods in understanding, leaning back on the bathroom counter for support. 

“You know it’s just too fucking easy to tell when someone’s in love?” Mai continues staring at the sink, gaze seemingly frozen. “I see it in his eyes. I’m not stupid. Don’t you love him? Don’t you want to stay and fight for him?” 

Why did she have to end up with someone’s scraps? How does she manage to get the short end of the stick in everything? Even when it came with something as primal as the matters of the heart? 

Katara wheezes. “I’d rather paint an entire house with the butt of a crayon than beg a man to choose me over another woman. It’s better to not let a penis disturb your peace.” 

She places her hand over Mai’s. It surprises her that she doesn’t snatch back right away. Instead, she wordlessly meets Katara’s eyes. “Love isn’t supposed to make you a maniac. It isn’t supposed to turn you into someone you’re not. Don’t settle, just because you’re in love.” 

Mai wants to hate that she’s managed to get a read on her so easily. She wants to despise her, hate her for ruining this vision she’s had for the last decade of her life.

Her resentment towards Katara never fully forms, instead becoming an ebbing pain that feels more of a nuisance than a genuine feeling. 

It’s a pain she’s familiar with. Holding onto the idea that things could change in her world, and thinking her life would find any way to be better. Instead, reality always manages to peek through and ruin the illusion without any mercy. Girls like Mai never got to dream about what could’ve been, dream outside the box. 

She thinks she sees the same feeling in Katara’s eyes, too. 

//

After the dinner ended with awkward hugs and rich people cheek kisses, Mai’s parents wanted her to stay with Zuko for the night. “A full moon is the perfect opportunity to suck the depression out of her titties!” 

“Mom,  _ ew _ .” 

Her mom sends her a withering look. “What? I can only be a hot grandma if you start working  _ fast _ .” 

Mai stomps back to the rooms he reserved, and then promptly locks herself in the one he already had dibs on. She doesn’t even look at him, just snatching the hotel keycard and whipping his face with her hair with how fast she turns away from him. 

“Good for her,” Katara encourages, after watching the whole ordeal go down. Her mouth numb from the mints she had for dinner. 

“Whose side are you on?” Zuko says, the noise muffled once he dropped his head in his hands. 

“Rihanna’s.” 

Zuko wonders if he was crazy for thinking all of this shit was crazy. Mai refused to open the door, leaving Zuko to stiffly lay in Katara’s bed with nothing but his boxers on. However, Katara’s as comfortable as she can be. In contrast to his discomfort, she’s on her side of the bed curling up on the entirety of the blanket and holding it to cuddle as though it was a body pillow. 

When he reaches for some of it, she snatches it back before he could relish under the warmth. 

“Katara, this isn’t fair!” Even the moments when they would pass out on the living room mat after their stints as The Painted Lady and Blue Spirit, she was never this stingy with the blanket. Instead, she’d just lay down and fall asleep immediately, exhaustion overpowering the sounds of the birds chirping. He would have to be the one to cocoon her in a blanket. 

“I can’t sleep,” she admits honestly. “I just wanted to hold onto something.” All the teasing gone from her voice. Something about the night fall blanketing the sky and the full moon made it even especially easy to talk to him. 

“Why are you sleeping with one eye open?” Zuko asks, when he glances over to her.

“Keeping an eye out for Selener.” 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

Katara just grunts. “You not knowing a Nicki Minaj verse is more disappointing than the time I invested 10 million dollars in Gwenyth Paltrow’s candle that smelled like her vagina.” 

Zuko just lays there, trying to see if focusing on his breath would lull him to sleep. 

“Hey Zuko.” 

“Yes?” He quirks his eyebrow at how breathless she sounded. 

“You’re warm.” She knew that much from how comfortable they were laying side by side with each other after each of their raids. 

“And?” He never minded the times they would wake up curled up next to each other, Katara only millimeters apart from him. She didn’t seem to, either. Except for the times she complained his morning breath smelled like Chris Brown songs (“Basically, trash and ugly dick,” she would explain). 

“Don’t make me say it.” 

He smirks. “Just say you want to cuddle me,” he teases. 

“When did you get so cheesy?” She hesitates for half a second before making up her mind and slamming herself into him. She’s a welcome weight, the way she just wraps herself around him as though she was a needy kitten. “It’s just because I’m cold, ok?” 

Even after not bending for years, he was convinced he could still make his body grow warmer on his own accord. He’s glad he could capitalize on it for situations like this. “When did you start asking so many questions?” His smile is playful and so handsome she doesn’t know whether she wanted to kiss or smack it off him. 

“I can even hear the doo doo boiling in your stomach!” Katara exclaims, before she was  _ rudely _ ripped from her comfortable spot on Zuko’s chest. 

“Ok, that’s it. You can sleep on the floor.” He complains, shoving her gently off of him and turning on his side so his back faces her. He can’t seem to process her obnoxious laughter with how loudly his ears were ringing in embarrassment. 

She’s seen people wither under the shine of his swords. Their faces blanching at the sight of his fighting stance and the determined cock of his head. There was something so satisfying about making an intense fighter, known for his hot-temper and lethal abilities, just turn into a blushing teenager all over again. She’s sure she’s mastered the art of embarrassing him, and wants to keep testing his limits for as long as she has the time to. 

She’s undeterred, though. Simply throwing her arms around his middle as revenge, and it takes his breath away. “Do you hate it?” she whispers.

“No, I don’t.” He answers instantly. 

“Say that you like it.” She just hugs him tighter. 

“I won’t do that.” He breathes, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his heart is beating so fast.

“I can feel your toenails scraping me, Zuko.” 

“Get used to it,” he bluntly retorts. 

She promptly swings a leg over his waist and pulls him in even closer, just to annoy him. “Oh no, Zuko! Tell me if I’m too close. I can’t have you falling in love with me,” she says while on the brink of bursting out laughing. 

He waits until her breathing evens out. “Think it’s too late for that,” he murmurs into the darkness. 

//

“Zuko,” she says softly. 

“What?” He grumbles. Katara’s been twisting against his body for the last hour, and he couldn’t bring himself to rest with how close she was to him. 

“I can’t sleep.” She makes eye contact with him, and smirks. 

He beams at her, eyes wide and with an alertness akin to post-nut clarity. His smile is so dangerous and so enticing all at once. “Me either.” 

It was like they read each other’s minds when they worked side by side. Both of them slipping past a hapless guard on their way to a Fire Nation high society party. Fully in their alter-egos for the night. 

From what Zuko heard from Mai’s father telling Uncle Iroh, it was an escape room-esque challenge inside the Fire Nation Mint. Whoever was able to break into the nearly impenetrable forces would collect a large cash prize hidden inside an intricate maze. 

He’s seen his father attend these gatherings, a party where the elite could purposefully cause destruction in the name of entertainment. They dressed to the nines, only to wreak havoc for the night. 

It was nothing the Painted Lady and Blue Spirit couldn’t handle. 

“I’m going to smoke that bitch like pulled pork,” Katara easily freezes a guard lunging for her while Zuko breaks apart the outdated security cameras secured at the edges of the room. It was ridiculously easy, especially since they arrived hours before the event was scheduled to begin. 

It was  _ too  _ easy. 

He’s gathered that much when he lands on his feet and tries calling for Katara, only to feel a blade pressed to his throat. 

//

“Are you mad at me?” Zuko whispers. Katara glances between him and the two guards pointing guns in their faces. They were handcuffed, Katara’s water supply snatched from her, and his swords now sheathed in the guards’ casings. Shoved in the back of a van like captured animals. 

“Maybe,” she grits out, shrinking at the sight of the glowering guards. 

“Move again, and we’ll shoot him.” They eye Katara warily and train their weapons on Zuko. Nonetheless, her glare has them quivering. They’ve heard enough rumors about the duo, but were even more terrified of her. Their superiors instructed them to not even sweat around her, lest she use it to her advantage. 

Zuko promised himself he wouldn’t cry. Not when the guards took his swords. Not even when they tossed them down a volcano with other banished prisoners, and cackled as they smacked the ground. 

“You said there would be a cushion to catch us!” Zuko screams, the walls causing his voice to echo upwards. 

“My bad!” They cackle, throwing up a peace out sign before shuffling off back to their van. 

Immediately, the guards roaming the prison shove the duo to a group therapy session just as another prisoner details how therapeutic skinning a cat was. Apparently, this prison was meant for trapping and rehabilitating the most dangerous criminals in the Fire Nation. The Painted Lady and Blue Spirit just happened to be at the top of that list. It was made as a way for them to rot away their days until (hopefully) a volcano explosion would wipe them out before pneumonia did first. 

“How was I supposed to know it was a trap!” He angrily whispers. 

He feels himself tear up when Katara lets her eyes close, brows furrowing. “Why is your brain literally a can of baked beans right now?”

“I’m going to get us out of here.” He tries gesturing with his hands, even shackled behind him. 

Her face crumples, disappointment marring her pretty features. “I don’t have time for this, Zuko! We don’t have time for this. Iroh’s leaving in the morning!” She squeezes her eyes shut, as though she could wake up from this nightmare. “What if it’s our last chance?” 

“You are getting on that ship!” He tries his best positive tone, only to be met with Katara on the verge of tears.

“You know what this is  _ my fault _ . I always try to rap Nicki’s verses out loud and then I stutter and  _ boom _ I’m three bars behind. It’s Rihanna punishing me for thinking I had the range. There’s no other explanation for it.” 

Zuko clenches his jaw. “What if you just. I don’t know. Make a super sharp ice blade out of your sweat and slit everyone’s throat all at once.” 

Katara just groans, looking around the room for a larger water source for a viable attack. “We’re going in reverse but at least the car is moving.” 

“What if you just bloodbend everyone into folding chairs and just call it a night?”

Katara sighs. “This is sadder than when you’re drunk and you fall asleep with your bra on. When you wake up, and you’re constantly in pain, you think it’s a shitty dream and you want to blame it on the alcohol but it’s really your irresponsibility that’s to blame. Because you knew better. Zuko, we knew better.”

“Are we the bra in this metaphor?” Zuko asks blandly. 

“Keep your chins up guys!” Ming encourages, a blinding smile on her face. “At least the warden let you guys participate in the talent show! Start practicing, and then you’ll feel better!” She was a guard assigned to closely watch over Katara in case she tried waterbending. She was a sweetheart, even being lax enough to let Zuko and Katara keep their costumes over the red prison jumpsuit. 

Their eyes meet, identical smiles growing on their faces. 

//

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Zuko presses. 

“Trust me, no one can resist a good Nicki Minaj song. Unless you pay full tuition at Cardi B Bird University.” Katara says, sounding fully confident. 

He exhales heavily. “If you say so.” 

The talent show was meant to be a chance to rehabilitate prisoners and help them find hobbies outside of violence and crime. After Katara signs up for the last available time slot, she spends the few hours she had doing vocal warmups. 

On top of the makeshift stage, she grabs at the microphone with sweaty palms. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” She quickly clears her throat to the resounding silence. She can’t help but sweat when everyone looks positively  _ bored _ . 

She nervously tucks a stray hair behind her ear before clearing her throat for a second time. 

_ Here goes nothing _ . “This one is for the boys with the booming system.” The prisoners peer curiously up at her. “Top down, AC with the cooler system.” 

Zuko sends her a thumbs up from his spot in the back of the audience. 

“When he come up in the club, he be blazing up.” She hears one prisoner cheer and get up out of his seat. “Got stacks on deck like he saving up!” Katara punctuates the words with a mini fist bump. “And he ill, he real, he might gotta deal…”

“I don’t know why, this music makes me want to shake my ass…” One prisoner excitedly exclaims as Katara continues rapping Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass.” 

“He pop bottles and he got the right kind of build!” 

“Boo! You suck!” Zuko lamely yelps from his spot in the back. 

A guy turns around, trying to find the origin of the person screaming. “Hey, fuck you! She’s expressing her feelings through catchy lyricism!” His body continued to dance along to Katara’s voice, all while trying to find the person who criticized her. 

A push, a shove, and a Nicki verse later and they had successfully begun a riot. 

With enough sweat produced as the prisoners fought among the heat of the volcano’s magma, Katara quickly began constructing a staircase towards the top. Other prisoners began following them in the confusion and chaos, and guards were desperately trying to catch up as well. The ice fortress was beginning to shatter among the added weight, and Katara quickly forms a water cloak and attaches it to a tree nearby the volcano. After extending her arm to Zuko, who holds on for dear life, she begins lifting them through towards the entrance. 

She’s tugging as hard she could on the water cloak, holding onto any last spurts of strength she could muster. A few guards had thrown themselves at Zuko, who almost lost his balance while kicking them off him. He loses his grip on her arm, but manages to catch himself and hug onto her waist with a vice-like grip. Her legs wrap around his body to hold him tight to her. A guard is dangling from his foot, his nails digging into the flesh. 

There was too much going on. She was trying to take advantage of the full moon giving her strength, and she tried to manipulate and bloodbend the guard to fall. Yet, the weight of trying to lift the duo through the entrance, the night hours almost bleeding through to morning, as well as a sleepless night’s exhaustion has the guard still stubbornly gripping on to Zuko. 

She sees the look in his eyes. “Zuko, no!” 

“Katara, it’s ok.” He looks up to her with watery eyes. “You have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want to hold you back. Name your kids Zuko. All of them. Like Zuko the first, Zuko the second. Have lots of Zukos, ok?” 

“Zuko, stop it! Don’t—Don’t do this!” She pleads desperately, holding on even tighter to him. 

“I love you, I always will. You know that.” 

“ZUKO!” The last thing he hears is her voice reverberating through the volcano’s walls. He looks up, and the force of Zuko letting go combined with the water cloak’s extending pressure launches Katara swiftly up and out the volcano. 

He’s fully prepared to nose dive in the pile of flames, magma, and disemboweled prisoners. Meeting his fate wouldn’t be too hard, especially knowing Katara was able to make it out alive. 

He could almost taste the flames, feel it press and activate a heat in his skin he hasn’t felt in years. It was fitting, going out like this. Going out in the element that haunted him, cursed him, and above all, still made him who he was. 

Until, he feels the rush of water wrapping around his waist, launching him so fast in the air he swears he feels his tendons detach. 

“Oh, god. You’re ok, you’re ok, right?” Katara gingerly cradles his body, gently removing the mask before inspecting him over to make sure none of his injuries were too serious. 

He nervously opens his eyes and his immediate reaction is to wipe the tears away from her face. “Katara, I’m okay.” He reassures, holding her face in his hand. 

She leans into his touch. “Don’t lie to me. You always say that you’re okay. You always say everything is fine. Just—just stop being stupid! Stop doing stupid things because of me. Can you stop making me worry about—” 

“Katara, I would do it all over again for you.” 

Their eyes meet, and his gaze flickers to her lips. 

Her breath and heart practically seize. Everything else in the world, every other concern seems to dissolve in that moment. The air around them freezing and making them feel as though it was just the two of them. Just Zuko and Katara. Her eyes rapidly darting to his as if to ask  _ are you sure _ ? 

He interjects with a chaste kiss, and Katara melts in his hold. 

He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He wants to desperately transmit every ounce of love he had for her. The type of love that could be divine if the world gave them a chance to figure it out. A love that you could feel wrap around your whole body and never let go. It was a love he never thought he would feel. The sensation floods every one of his senses until all he could think about was her. 

He kisses her stupid, makes her head spin and her body in tune with his gentle caresses that turned her into putty. She feels desperate, kissing back with equal vigor. Her entire being praying it would never end. 

When they part for a breath of air, their cheeks are flushed. “Can I kiss you again?” He asks, suddenly bashful. 

She presses her lips to his without any hesitation. 

//

At the dock, without the security blanket of the night sky or bloodthirsty guards and adrenaline clouding their senses, she just wants  _ more _ . She just wants him. 

Even if the world said she could never have him.

They ran as fast as they could, and beat Iroh’s crew in arriving at the port. The Lu Ten ship proudly anchored and awaited passengers. 

“Could you stay with me until Iroh comes?” She pleads. 

He’s selfish, though. Feels guilty for it, too. Taking the long route to the docks just to spend a few minutes longer around her until she slips away from his grasp. 

He pulls her close as they sit at the edge of the dock, swinging their legs. “I can’t, Katara,” he murmurs in her hair. Letting go at this point would be easier. If he could just erase the Katara shaped hole in his heart, he would. It would be easier to. But it’s a spot set in stone and would refuse to budge, even if it kills him. 

“I think I’m allowed to miss you, now.” Katara wheezes out, words garbled by the snot flowing freely down her face. 

He holds onto her a minute longer, before wordlessly detracting himself from her grip. He’s trying to make this painless, trying to minimize the hurt before it fully hit him. 

She understands, though. Of course she does. How slowly he moves away, back turned to her so it would hurt less. 

It’s like his body is a separate entity, moving on its own. When he’s only a few steps away from her, he realized. Him and heart were weak things. Weak for her. He drops his mask to the ground, and then it takes only a few seconds before all he could feel and taste is Katara. A fiery farewell kiss planted on her soft lips. 

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself close. Too close. He doesn’t know how he will move on at this point, how he could imagine a world without her. 

He has to, though. He just doesn’t think his heart can handle it. 

//

Everything hurts. 

Of course, she was grateful. Returning to her expensive creams, expansive bathroom,  _ running water _ , vegan-adjacent meal plans, and ice cubes was everything she had wanted for as long as she was in the Fire Nation. 

When she bursts into a meeting set up to transfer her company over to merge with her brother’s, she looks at the rows of her unfaithful board. The people praying, hell capitalizing on her downfall. She doesn’t know what hurt more. The fact that her own flesh and blood was more concerned with her stock position than finding her. Or the fact that her board released a statement declaring her dead, and then immediately proceeded to auction off her yacht. 

Even dripped head to toe in Gucci, with her patented icy persona on to announce “ _ Katara isn’t dead, bitch _ !,” she feels her heart ache.

It’s moments like these that remind her of the cold, hard truth. She’s back to her Dolce & Gabbana and prickly business meetings and back to being a version of Katara she wasn’t sure she completely missed. 

Especially when she raises her employees’ salaries by 50% and she sees two of them faint abruptly. She promotes the ones Toph mentioned had launched an extensive campaign to find her, even signing on the Buzzfeed Unsolved guys to make a video about her disappearance. When she announced her new board members, nearly all of them dropped to the ground in shock, puddles of tears dripping to the floor. 

The intense reaction has her worried. “Was I always a frigid bitch?” She asks Toph during a company lunch in the building’s cafeteria. She tears into the sandwich without logging the ingredients in her diet app and Toph notes it right away. 

“Do you want the honest answer or the answer that will make you feel less cunty?” 

Katara sighs. 

Toph doesn’t remember a time Katara showed up to work in jeans and flat shoes, or eating with her employees. She was always a ball of stress, and wouldn’t dare to let anyone see her as less than the cold persona she’s put up for so many years. She ate alone, dealt with things alone, lived her life  _ alone _ . A cold hearted bitch no one wanted to fuck with. 

“Be honest with me, Toph. We’re best friends! You can tell me anything.” Katara reassures. Toph almost recoils but quickly recovers. They haven’t spoken about non-business related things in  _ years _ . 

“Ok, I’ll be honest. I just learned what the word ‘mitigate’ meant. I just kept using it and hoped it made me look smart,” Toph effortlessly admits. 

Katara gives her a patient smile. “Ok, that’s...great.” She finishes lamely. “Are you still dating that one guy you met at pilates?” 

Toph nearly spits out her food. “That reminds me, I need to break up with him. Can you believe I was dating someone who worked at Jamba Juice  _ and  _ he cheated on me? I put all that trust in him to treat me like an old bathroom mat that always gets caught on the door whenever you try closing it.” 

Katara’s mischievous smile has Toph sweating. 

“Yes bitch! Another kick to the cock! Yes, no procreation for you, slut!” 

Toph temporarily pauses her aggressive punches to the guy. “Katara, you’re literally the worst hype woman ever.” 

“Appreciate my efforts!” She waves her hands around erratically, making sure to keep a secure grip on Toph’s earrings she took off before the fight started. 

Toph sticks out her tongue a la Megan Thee Stallion. “Yuh!” And proceeds to keep pummeling her (now) ex-boyfriend’s face in the middle of his Jamba Juice shift. 

Katara manages to post Toph’s bail and get her out of jail all by the end of the workday. 

“Wherever you went. Rehab, or one of those cults that you see on TLC. I don’t care. I’ve missed you.” Toph lightly punches her arm. “I’ve really missed you, Katara.” 

Katara feels herself tear up and holds Toph as tight as possible until she protests about her armpit smelling like Mountain Dew. 

//

“I think he’s  _ crying _ ,” Mako says so rapidly, the food inside his mouth began flinging in the faces of the other soldiers. 

“Mako, literally shut up. Stop lying you stupid—” They nearly drop their chopsticks out of shock as the captain irritatingly wipes at his pesky eyes. 

They carefully look up at the Zuko, who’s isolated himself at the far head of the table. Weeks before, he seemed happier. Even slipping snacks here and there Sapphire insisted on him sharing. He would do it, begrudgingly of course, but the men still looked forward to whatever she cooked up for the week. He would sit with them,  _ talk  _ to them as though they weren’t merely coworkers. 

It doesn’t seem to get easier.

Even as days pass by, the hole in his heart aches. No matter how many times he says positive affirmations to the moon peach plant Katara traded his alarm clock for and planted in his front yard without his permission. 

Jackfruit seems to taste even more sour without her by his side. 

He thinks it shouldn’t be fair. That every day he’s worried about her, and he can’t even let her know. 

When he’s out at night, he swears the villagers miss the Painted Lady as much as he does. 

//

When she makes noodles, she can’t seem to get that tangy taste that was Zuko’s signature touch. 

Even bullying Debby Ryan isn’t the same anymore. Katara even sent her a congratulatory flower bouquet with an apology note after finding out she got secretly married this year (Debby blocked her soon afterwards). 

At night, after a grueling day at work, she still thinks he’s going to magically appear and hold her, tell her about his day until she’s lulled to sleep with his voice. 

“Zuko, did you know I tried making your favorite noodle dish today?” She whispers to no one, knees drawn up to her chest. She doesn’t know why she needed to be surrounded by it, to be reminded of how freeing being by water felt like. Or how relaxing the sand beneath her toes felt. It was easier to breathe that way. She didn’t care that her Balenciaga hoodie was probably never going to get sand out of it, no matter how many times she will wash it. It doesn’t cross her mind for long. “I couldn’t get it to taste quite like yours. I think I’m going to open a clinic soon, because I missed helping people.” She scrubs a hand over her face, trying to stay awake in the wee hours of the morning. 

“I bought a new lip gloss yesterday. Today I tried to listen to Rihanna to make me feel better, but I think I still miss you.” She breathes out, and watches her breath form into a little cloud. “Is it bad I hope you’ve forgotten all about me? I think it would be easier that way.” 

“I could never forget about you, Katara.” 

Her heart nearly jumps out her chest, and she’s coughing. Body thrown in shock so suddenly. 

When she gets up and turns, time nearly freezes. She could hear her heartbeat, feel herself lose control and freeze the water sources surrounding her. 

“Zuko?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO 
> 
> I swear I will wrap this shit up soon I'm sorry I am a dumb bitch !! omg I am so impatient I'm like damn get a MOVE ON when I read my own fics so I promise I'll try to finish this ASAP
> 
> thank you for showing this fic so much love I really appreciate it and I don't think I've been this happy in a minute <3 I hope everything is going well for everyone and I am so grateful to have all you in my life and reading my work!! 
> 
> Also tell me your favorite Nicki songs or verses bc it's Barb nation only !! 
> 
> PS I love Mai so much jdjdjfkfk she's a complicated bitch I love that for her
> 
> Also! Omg partially based on Harley Quinn bc I love that shit 🥺


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